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The Local Journalism Project, Young Voices: People (November, 2024)

Early career journalists and fellows supported by the Local Journalism Project learn a lot about in-depth news reporting during their time at the Provincetown Independent. In the process, they tell us, they also learn about the Outer Cape community and the people who make it special. This collection of their work features people you might call “characters” — both over the top and under the radar types. By telling their stories, our talented young writers reintroduce us to our friends and neighbors and invite us all to engage in our community in a deeper way. We offer their work here with thanks to all those whose gifts support this unique local journalism initiative. —Janet Lesniak, Executive Director, the Local Journalism Project

Early career journalists and fellows supported by the Local Journalism Project learn a lot about in-depth news reporting during their time at the Provincetown Independent. In the process, they tell us, they also learn about the Outer Cape community and the people who make it special. This collection of their work features people you might call “characters” — both over the top and under the radar types. By telling their stories, our talented young writers reintroduce us to our friends and neighbors and invite us all to engage in our community in a deeper way. We offer their work here with thanks to all those whose gifts support this unique local journalism initiative. —Janet Lesniak, Executive Director, the Local Journalism Project

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Young Voices:

People

VOL. 3, NOVEMBER 2024

Periodicals Supplement to

the Provincetown

Independent,

November 28, 2024


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Vol. 3, November 28, 2024

Young Voices:

People

Articles by young writers from the Provincetown Independent

Early career journalists and fellows supported by the Local Journalism Project

learn a lot about in-depth news reporting during their time at the Provincetown

Independent. In the process, they tell us, they also learn about the Outer Cape

community and the people who make it special.

This collection of their work features people you might call “characters” — both over

the top and under the radar types. By telling their stories, our talented young

writers reintroduce us to our friends and neighbors and invite us all to engage in

our community in a deeper way. We offer their work here with thanks to all those

whose gifts support this unique local journalism initiative.

— Janet Lesniak, Executive Director,

the Local Journalism Project

Editor’s note: With this third volume of stories by writers who have joined us early in their careers,

we feel especially grateful for the ways they have looked at some familiar subjects with fresh eyes

and written entertainingly about them. We thank the thirteen young writers represented in this

collection, the senior staff of the Independent who have been their mentors, and the Local Journalism

Project and readers who have so generously supported this effort to engage and appreciate the next

generation of journalists. —Edward Miller



Contents

4

7

Dougie Freeman

Takes a Bow

By Josephine de La Bruyère

(February 4, 2021)

Meet the Man

Who Is Mulching

Duck Harbor

By Sam Pollak

23

26

Peter Cook Tells

Stories to Remember

By Oliver Egger

(June 22, 2023)

Behind the

Scenes at the

Portuguese Festival

By Emma Madgic

38

40

Fail Gail

By (Saskia) Max(well) Keller

(September 10, 2020)

As Long as There’s

No Wind, Kenny

Dutra Flies

By Sophie Mann-Shafir

(September 21, 2023)

10

13

16

19

(April 13, 2023)

The Gospel

According to Suede

By Amelia Roth-Dishy

(August 17, 2023)

An Eastham Farmer

Tends the Future of

His Fields

By Isabelle Nobili

(July 7, 2022)

Dina Martina

Is in a Good Place

By Paul Sullivan

(June 20, 2024)

Aging Gardeners’

New Favorite Crop:

Cannabis

By Molly Reinmann

29

31

34

(June 23, 2022)

When a Flea

Market Find Is a

New Direction

By Paul Sullivan

(July 15, 2021)

Ngina Lythcott Is

This Year’s Tim

McCarthy Human

Rights Champion

By Aden Choate

(December 14, 2023)

Roaming Trails

and Beaches and

Finding Freedom

on Horseback

By Jack Styler

(May 2, 2024)

43

46

48

Matty Dread Is an

‘Ambassador of Love’

By Aden Choate

(April 11, 2024)

On and Off the

Lifeguards’ Chair at

Herring Cove Beach

By Jacob Smollen

(August 8, 2024)

On July 4, Joseph

Pellegrino Turns 100

By Amelia Roth-Dishy

(July 6, 2023)

(August 1, 2024)

On the cover: Red Dance (2016) by Bob Henry,

oil on Hypro, 18 x 24 in.; courtesy BHA Gallery


4 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

PIZZAZZ

Dougie Freeman Takes a Bow

He’s selling, but with no plans to stop finding beauty in everyone

By Josephine de La Bruyère

PROVINCETOWN —

Long story short: Dougie

Freeman, who since

1982 has cut, colored,

and charmed the Outer

Cape, who was,

he says, once young

and gorgeous and 127

pounds and now, at 68,

is spray-tanned, arthritic,

still known for his

legs (get that in there:

fabulous legs), who at

17 fled Newton for Boston,

where he balanced

cocktails on a cork tray

on his fingertips, which

reminds him that waiters

used to have such

style, such pizzazz —

what was the question?

Dougie Freeman,

who got his start in

beauty from a man

with a gold Cadillac

(can’t name him; blame

the lawyers), who as a

matter of fact brings

up Cadillacs eight

times in an 87-minute

stretch, who says he

has done everything

in life he wanted to,

namely: had fabulous

love affairs and great

possessions and Louis

Vuitton trunks and diamonds

and (listen!)

big precious stones,

and has traveled, and

slept with gorgeous

men who threw flowers

at his feet, and saved

lives, and been interviewed

by the Library

of Congress, which his

press people want him

to mention, and — hold

one second, husband

Jimmy’s calling: “Honey,

I’m doing an interview

and can’t talk unless

it’s life or death.

Is it life or death?”

Dougie Freeman,

who shampooed Julia

Child (head like a

cabbage), who styled

Farrah Fawcett, Holly

Woodlawn, Lily Tomlin,

who never would

have guessed Cunanan

a murderer, and who

will, yes, answer the

question, just two more

minutes, a couple more

clients to list, (this is

important) who had ins

with the mob but would

absolutely never name

names and who, for the

record, has indeed met

Whitey Bulger, promises

to get to the point in

just a bit; he needs to explain,

and set the scene,

and also close this door.

Dougie Freeman,

who in other papers’

ink is “freewheeling”

and “outrageous,” adjectives

which at once

describe him perfectly

and do him no justice

at all, who in three

hours answers three

questions and asks himself

12, spent two years

making this decision,

which he knows is big,

big news.

Dougie Freeman —

who speaks with no

hint of plot or punctuation,

who is infinitely

quotable and knows it,

who promises to but

does not and should

never keep a long

story short — is, after

39 years, selling his

West End Salon.

Dougie opened the

West End Salon on Aug.

2, 1982, after a deal

that — in his telling —

involved Boston’s top

criminal defense attorney

(first name Jeffrey,

straight, gorgeous, but

last name off-limits), an

alcoholic Frenchman

(wildly abusive), the

mob, inheritance fraud

(minor), a woman who

ran off with a stylist,

and one racehorse.

Stories in Dougie’s

hands are fantastic, dizzying,

wildly crafted.

They also — this doesn’t

make them any less of a

delight — largely stray

from the question at

hand. Dougie promises

a story about himself,

then, without fail,

manages to melt away.

The focus is on his

characters (“let me tell

you about” is his refrain)

wrought with

such salacity that one

forgets they have no

business in his answer.

Dougie is, in his own

words, first and foremost

an entertainer.

For a decade, Dougie

slept on the salon’s

floor. A journalist reported

once that he

slept always under

the sinks. Untrue.

(Dougie keeps track

of mistakes.) It was

his ex-Playboy-bunny

roommate who slept

always under the sinks.

She was a lady; Dougie

got the spot beneath the

fan. The Village People

came and played

“Y.M.C.A.,” and Dougie

felt the walls shake.

He installed a stripper

pole (nothing like a

good gimmick); ran his

business like a family

(raising other people’s

children — that’s what

I’ve done); talked his

way onto Bravo (highest

Nielsen-rated episode

of Tabatha’s Salon

Takeover). In 39 years,

he made the West End

Salon a fixture. He is,

himself, an institution.

And in 39 years at the

West End Salon, Dougie

has made people feel


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 5

After 39 years in his Provincetown salon, Dougie Freeman says he is ready for “take two.” (Photo by Josephine de La Bruyère)

beautiful. That is his specialty,

though he wishes

Hollywood were. He

logs onto Zoom, first adjusts

his angle, next announces

that, goodness,

this reporter is pretty.

Dougie finds beauty everywhere,

in spirits and

character — he’s quick

to stress that. But without

fail, Dougie helps

his clients find beauty

in a mirror. There are

rules to his art. People

are seasons and bangs

work for big noses. Thin

faces need width. Fat

faces need height. Dougie’s

stories may dizzy.

His styling inspires.

But now, Dougie

Freeman is 68, and

spending two hours daily

cleaning 1,350 square

feet of waterfront Commercial

Street real estate

is great for his figure,

not for his knees.

His husband needs

care. (For better or for

worse, honey. Remember

those vows.) Swimming

pools and movie

stars, says Dougie, are

coming to Provincetown,

and the West End

Salon — his 401(k), the

building listed at $1.35

million, name, number,

and client list for an extra

$200K, hitting the

market as soon as he

can swing it — is simply

too valuable to be a

beauty salon anymore.

Dougie will keep doing

this — “this” being

a finger-scissor snip —

until the day he dies.

He’ll work for a competitor

or open something

small downtown.

His clients need not

fret. But it’s time, he

says, for a change. He

has been rich and he

has been poor. Being

rich is better. He’ll hire

a personal trainer, and

sing. He’ll write dark,

riveting poetry and fiction

that’s only nominally

fiction. Can you

imagine the stories in

his pocket? He’ll work

on his flamenco. He’ll

fix his teeth.

Long story short:

After 39 years at the

West End Salon, Dougie

Freeman — who needs

some time to get a little

gorgeous before his

photo, who says this

could be old news by

next week — the interview

requests from

Bravo and the Globe

will come — who prefers

to tell and certainly

can tell his story better

than anyone, is letting a

long story end.


Proud to nourish

tomorrow’s

journalists

(508) 487-3627 • www.jeproduce.com

Home Delivery Available


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 7

HERRING RIVER RESTORATION

Meet the Man Who Is Mulching Duck Harbor

The machine is loud but the work is regenerative, says Faun Koplovsky

By Sam Pollak

WELLFLEET — Deep

into the dense brush

of Duck Harbor, a low

rumbling sound reverberates

off the pitch

pines and oak trees. An

enormous yellow machine

munches through

the understory, and

seated in the cab, half

hidden by equipment, a

brawny man with mutton

chops has his hand

on the throttle.

Faun Koplovsky is his

name, and turning trees

into mulch is his game.

The man with the mythical

name is doing the

work that has everyone

talking: the utter obliteration

of 125 acres of

vegetation at Duck Harbor

that was killed in

the great overwash of

December 2020.

“My job is pretty

wild,” Koplovsky said,

perched next to his towering

ProGrind excavator,

whose slogan is “We

eat trees for lunch.”

“I deal with the worst

of the worst a lot of the

time,” Koplovsky said.

“I built my machine to

not have a limit. There’s

no limit to what it can

mulch. I can mulch every

single thing. That’s

what sets me apart

from other folks in the

mulching business.”

Koplovsky was contracted

by the Tennessee-based

nonprofit

Ducks Unlimited, which

received a $2-million

grant from the U.S. Fish

and Wildlife Service to

manage vegetation removal

at Duck Harbor.

The removal is part of

the Herring River project,

the largest saltwater

marsh restoration project

in Massachusetts

history, which aims to

restore tidal flow and

saltwater habitats in the

1,000-acre estuary.

Koplovsky’s work at

Duck Harbor began in

late January and will

end on April 15 when

the endangered Northern

long-eared bat returns

to the area from

winter hibernation.

Federal and state regulations

prohibit the removal

of trees in known

habitat areas during

bat-roosting season.

But he will be back

in November to finish

what he started. He has

already leveled 50 acres

of salt-poisoned trees

and shrubbery, and he

pulverizes about three

more acres every day,

depending on the size of

the trees. “Machine hydraulics

is what I listen

to all day,” Koplovsky

said. “It’s my music.”

Koplovsky has been

in the game for 20 years,

with over 25,000 hours

of mulching experience,

he estimated. Despite

his expertise, “It never

gets boring. Mulching

trees is just my thing,

I guess.”

Originally from Randolph,

Vt., Koplovsky

said his decision to

enter the industry was

a no-brainer: “I just

saw someone working

on the side of the road

with a tree mulcher

and thought it was

pretty wild.”

He has worked on

projects across the

Northeast, including

trail-clearing in the

Vermont National Forest,

tree-mulching for

Faun Koplovsky next to his ProGrind excavator, which has specialized

components he transported from New Orleans. Koplovsky is the contractor

behind the clear-cutting of Duck Harbor. (Photos by Nancy Bloom)


8 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

prescribed burns

on Long Island, and

brush-masticating in

Mashpee to help restore

New England

cottontail habitat.

“I’m like an earth artist,”

Koplovsky said. “A

lot of what I do is forest

grooming, stump grinding.

I beautify the land.”

But the Duck Harbor

project is a first for him.

“I’m kind of a mountain

goat,” he said. “I’ve never

worked in a saltwater

marsh, so it’s pretty wild

to see the ocean while

I’m mulching trees.”

He added that he

has “never dealt with

so many big dead

trees. These are challenging

trees. They’ve

been struggling their

whole lives to survive,

so they’re very strong,

which makes them

tougher to mulch.”

Because Duck Harbor

was, in fact, a harbor

(and then a salt marsh)

before the Herring River

was diked in 1909,

draining much of the

estuary of salt water,

the area still retains a

swampy topsoil. This

makes it harder for

most machinery to traverse

the basin.

Koplovsky’s excavator

sports two pontoons

on the bottom that have

a ground impact of one

pound per square inch.

“They call it a marsh buggy

undercarriage,” Koplovsky

said. “A floating

excavator is pretty wild.”

A portion of the 125 acres of dead vegetation at Duck Harbor that

Koplovsky is mulching as part of the Herring River Restoration Project.

Officials expect the area will return to a salt marsh.

But you can’t just

get them anywhere, he

said. He went to New

Orleans to buy the pontoons,

and with the help

of a couple of mechanics

and a crane lugged

the 20-by-35-foot machinery

back across

the Mason-Dixon line.

“I now believe I’m the

only guy in the Northeast

with a marsh

buggy undercarriage,”

Koplovsky said.

The machine’s head

is specialized, too. With

a hydraulically powered

rolling drum, its

sharp teeth can masticate

wood with speed

and efficiency.

But despite appearances,

the job isn’t all

about death and destruction.

“It’s regenerative,”

Koplovsky said.

“The whole cool idea

here is that the mulch

goes right back into the

soil, so it’s going to help

build the soil for when

the saltwater marsh

comes in.”

Before the Herring

River was diked in 1909,

Duck Harbor was navigable.

Early settlers

floated building materials

to Bound Brook

Island. But by the late

1800s, the harbor had

“shoaled off” into a

healthy salt marsh.

When the dike was

constructed, berms

and ditches were also

built to drain the marsh

for mosquito control.

Freshwater vegetation

and invasive species

like phragmites then

colonized the area,

turning it into a dense

freshwater wetland.

When a nor’easter

hit the coast in

December 2020, high

tides breached the

already-eroding sand

dunes at Duck Harbor

Beach, and salt water

flowed into the basin,

killing off the freshwater

species there. Since

then, high tides regularly

breach the dunes and

flow into the basin, furthering

the dieback.

Koplovsky’s job is to

remove the dead vegetation

and berms so that

when the dike is opened

tidal flow through the

estuary will reconstitute

Duck Harbor as a

saltwater marsh. Tim

Smith, a restoration

ecologist for the Cape

Cod National Seashore,

said that researchers

saw native salt-marsh

species like cordgrass

arriving last summer

as well as seed banks

and propagules washed

over from the tides. The

removal of dead freshwater

vegetation will

promote the repopulation

of the salt-marsh

understory, Smith said.

“It’s all about restoration,”

Koplovsky

said, looking out at the

vast expanse of open

land where just a few

months ago a mass of

dead trees stood — and

many years before that,

where a salt marsh

sprouted cordgrass

and where herring

spawned. Sometime in

the future, with the help

of Koplovsky and his

giant machine, it could

look like that again.

“It’s pretty wild,”

Koplovsky said.


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 9

Introducing the all new Provincetown.com

Celebrating local businesses, local art, and local stories.


10 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

MUSICIANS

The Gospel According to Suede

An Outer Cape legend has learned to get out of her own way

By Amelia Roth-Dishy

Suede the fabric is a

velvety, pliable kind of

leather made from the

underside of animal

skin.

But Suede the musician

is not so easily

defined. An independent

artist through and

through, she’s explored

the worlds of jazz,

blues, folk, and even

comedy for more than

40 years. But the singer

and multi-instrumentalist,

whose irresistible

live shows on the jazz

club circuit have won

her legions of loyal fans,

thinks of herself mainly

as a “song stylist.”

“Any piece of music

that calls to me, I

will put my spin on it,”

Suede says.

The Wellfleet resident

will bring her

signature stylings and

dulcet pipes to her one

show here this summer,

her debut at the Payomet

Performing Arts

Center on Aug. 21.

She was born in

Nyack, N.Y. and her given

first name is Suzanne.

“Suede is my middle

name,” she says. “It’s

what I’ve gone by since

I was about 10 years

old. People assume it’s

some clever stage name

I made up. Nope.”

From a young age, she

loved tinkering with instruments.

She’s entirely

self-taught and plays the

guitar, piano, and trumpet

at her shows, “and

many other instruments

I wouldn’t ask anybody

to buy a ticket for” on

her own time.

“I remember thinking

this is exactly what I

wanted to do,” she says.

“It was either that or be

a veterinarian.”

The family eventually

landed in Annapolis,

Md. Suede attended

Wartburg College in

Iowa but returned east

when she graduated and

started out as a street

performer in Baltimore

Harbor, collecting tips

in her guitar case. She

also landed a sales job

at the Harmony Hut in

Laurel, Md., which she

was so good at that the

suits soon fast-tracked

her for corporate headquarters.

“I said, ‘Uh! This is

my two weeks’ notice,’ ”

Suede recalls. “I’m not

going to get comfortable

with a paycheck. I

came back here to make

my career happen.” She

started to build relationships

with the clubs

and bars in Maryland

and Virginia, growing

a fanbase organically

through word of mouth

and distributing her

music through her own

Easily Suede Music

record label.

The gospel of Suede

has broken into the

mainstream at various

points, like with “Emily

Remembers,” a 1995

song written by Shirley

Eikhard that raised

awareness of Alzheimer’s

disease. Suede

took it to new heights

on her 2001 album

On the Day We Met.

For those in the

know, the real gospel is

a Suede live show. Channeling

classic broads as

well as smooth crooners,

Duran Duran, and

Dylan, Suede can break

out a laugh line one

minute and a trumpet

solo the next. Her natural

rapport with audiences

used to help cover

up a persistent case of

imposter syndrome as

a self-taught performer.

“I grew up with this

horrible fraud conversation:

it’s a good thing

I’m funny because once

people realize that I

don’t know what I’m doing,

they’re going to be

really ticked off at me,”

she says. But with “40

years of therapy” and a

well of pure conviction,

the self-described “big,

sensitive mush” says,

“I have finally gotten out

of my way, you know?

Which just brings much

greater comfort and

playfulness onstage

and in the music — and

more connection.”

Responding to

Suede’s authenticity,

audiences get in on

the action. “There are

certain songs that I absolutely

have to put in

the show or people will

start throwing things,”

she says. Wary of getting

pigeonholed as a

standards singer, she

used to avoid covers of

songs she loved. “But

then I would kill ‘Over

the Rainbow.’ I could

so make ‘Hallelujah’

work. And now, that’s

one of my most requested

songs. Everybody’s

singing, and it’s church.

Why wouldn’t you do

that if you have the

opportunity?”

An out lesbian since

the beginning of her career,

Suede first played

Provincetown in the

summer of 1985 with

Michael Greer, with

whom she had done a

New Year’s Eve show in

Washington, D.C. “I was

a little baby,” she says.


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 11

Trumpet in hand, Suede speaks to her audience at Proctors Theatre in Schenectady, N.Y. on April 23, 2022.

(Photo by Brad Fowler)

The two put together a

music and comedy revue

for a summer-long

slot at the Gifford

House. “As soon as I got

up here, I thought, oh

my god. I need to figure

out how to have this be

my home base.”

Thirty years ago, she

landed a rental in Wellfleet.

The artist tradition

of moving from a

gorgeous winter spot

on the water in Provincetown

to “behind

somebody’s garage” for

the high season seemed

too difficult with all her

instruments and CDs.

She eventually bought

the place. “I’m one of

those lucky stories,”

she says.

Suede says she’s never

been “radical” about

her queerness. “But I

just felt that it was so

important to be honest

about who I am,”

she says. In part, she

moved here in search

of nonchalance around

sexuality. “I wanted to

be someplace where

nobody was ever going

to say, ‘Do you have a

husband? Do you have

a boyfriend?’ It wasn’t

a radical choice, like,

oh, I’m going to go

live in queer land. We

just all want it to be a

non-issue, right?”

Suede does “absolutely”

think that being

an out queer artist was

a factor in what doors

were opened for her,

but she wouldn’t have

had it any other way.

And musical independence,

though difficult,

was also a luxury. “I

never had anybody telling

me you’ve got to fix

your hair like this,” she

says. “You can’t wear

that onstage. Don’t talk

about that onstage. It

truly has been my work

as I want to express it.

“It can be a brutal,

brutal business, but

I’ve been able to stay

true to who I am and

make my own choices

around all of that,”

she adds.

That includes mainstream

spaces as well as

the women’s music circuit,

where she found

early success and community

but also chafed

under well-meaning attempts

at drawing battle

lines, like objections

to her wearing makeup

onstage. “Facial expressions

are important in

what I do, and I want

you to be able to see

them,” she says.

After decades of

touring through the offseason

and playing Provincetown

gigs all summer,

Suede has “slowed

down a bit” by choice

recently, a privilege of

being your own boss.

“I’m playing the places

I really want to be

playing,” she says. The

one-night-only concert

at Payomet is a “perfect

example,” she says. In

Truro, she’ll be incorporating

new material

into her classic set

alongside Fred Boyle,

her pianist for the past

15 years.

With a slate of shows

on deck this fall, Suede

is gearing up for more

extensive touring. After

40 years in the business,

she knows how to

take expert care of her

most important instrument

and avoids loud

restaurants when a

show is coming up.

A few years ago, on

the morning of two

back-to-back sold-out

bookings at Scullers

Jazz Club in Boston,

Suede woke up with

laryngitis. Somehow,

through sheer force of

will, she made it work.

To this day, fans tell her

those were their favorite

shows.

“The show comes

from within,” she says.

“It’s about your heart. If

you got the good pipes,

too, like I do, great.

But it’s really about

your heart.”


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Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 13

Wells instructs Eastham Elementary fourth-graders in turnip planting. (Photos by Isabelle Nobili)

COMMON GROUND

An Eastham Farmer Tends

the Future of His Fields

Bob Wells finds ways to build up the soil and share his land

By Isabelle Nobili

EASTHAM — The 15

fourth-grade students

from Mrs. Howard’s class

at Eastham Elementary

School marched across

the street to Redberry

Farm on the morning

of June 21. There, they

met farmer Bob Wells to

plant Eastham turnips

— as the town’s fourthgraders

have done for

the last five years.

This tradition is one

of many ways Wells

shares his land. “The

way I look at this piece

of ground out here is

that it was a gift from

God, literally handed to

me,” said Wells of his

five-acre plot. “I don’t

even think of it as being

mine. I think, ‘How can

I use this to benefit the

most people?’ ”

Students gathered

early on that Tuesday

morning in the future

turnip field and listened

as Wells explained

the task at hand. Five

straight rows were

marked by taut lines of

string, staked at each

end to provide a visual

guide for planting. In

pairs, the children dug

10 holes each, spaced

18 inches apart along

the lines. Some students

used trowels and others

their hands as they settled

their seedlings into

holes that strayed only

a little here and there

from the straight lines.

“Try to think like a

plant,” Wells said to

the students as they removed

rocks and sticks

from the soil. “What

sort of conditions would

you want to grow in?”

To introduce experimentation

and to

improve those conditions,

students added

handfuls of biochar, a

charcoal-like soil

amendment made onsite

by Wells, to the first

five holes of every row.

Wells explained that

biochar, made from

burning biomass, both

restores carbon and

offers adsorptive properties

that better store

microorganisms and

beneficial nutrients in

the soil.

A few rows over, another

collaboration is

underway. This season,

Wells is renting fields

to James Rosato and

Laura Howes of Dirt

Farm Co. Rosato and

Howes have farmed on

a 3,500-square-foot plot

at Putnam Farm in Orleans

for the past three

years, but they are beginning

to outgrow it.

“There are a lot of

young people who

would love to grow

their farm and don’t

have space to do it,”

Wells said. “If I am too

busy with biochar and

I’m not planting that

field, there’s somebody

else that can use it.”

Howes and Rosato,

both residents of Orleans,

are grateful for

the chance to expand

to Wells’s land. “It is

so hard to find land on

Cape Cod,” said Howes.

On roughly one acre

at Redberry Farm, Dirt

Farm Co. is growing

a range of root crops

this season, including,


14 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

of course, the Eastham

turnip. Farmers Jared

Kimler and Brian Tingley

grew Eastham turnips

on Wells’s land last

year, working it as Howes

and Rosato are now.

“If we are going to

have a local food system,”

Rosato said, “community

space is the

solution.”

Bob and Connie Wells

purchased the land,

which lies adjacent to

their Eastham house,

in 2005. It was densely

overrun with brambles,

vines, and multiflora

rose — a seemingly unlikely

place for a farm.

Bob Wells, however,

had a vision. “I always

have too much vision,”

he said. “I thought,

‘I’m gonna grow stuff

out there.’ ”

After months of

stump-pulling and

brush-clearing, a plot of

blueberries was planted.

“It very quickly became

obvious that the

soil here is terrible,”

said Wells. “And that I

was a complete fool to

base my life on growing

things in it.”

But he didn’t give

up. Instead, he began

collecting organic matter,

including fertilizerfree

grass clippings,

oak leaves, dead fish

and lobster, and food

waste, to establish compost

piles. The Eastham

Transfer Station proved

a valuable source of

material early on. Grad

Bob Wells in his biochar retort-building workshop on Holmes Road.

Wells instructs Eastham Elementary fourth-graders in turnip planting.

ually, Wells developed

other “symbiotic relationships”

with people

who supply him with

nutrient-dense materials

that, once composted,

enrich the sandy

soil. By sourcing organic

matter only from the

surrounding area, the

quality of the soil is

improved both sustainably

and economically.

Meanwhile, Wells

continued his research

into what makes for

healthy soils. “Whenever

I take on a task,”

Wells said, “I buy a lot

of books and study it

as in-depth as I can.

It’s always fun learning

something new.”

He read about the

origins of biochar

and how creating and


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 15

using it originated in

the Amazon basin.

There, indigenous peoples

added charcoal to

the soil to create a rich,

black loam known as

terra preta.

Wells designed and

built a small retort —

imagine a low-oxygen

kiln — to create this

biochar and brought it

to friends at the Orleans

Farmers’ Market,

where, at the time, he

sold his crops each Saturday.

Farmers asked

for more, and soon he

found himself teaching

others how to make it

and designing more

and larger retorts.

Wells said that he

never expected to create

a biochar industry

on Cape Cod. But he

founded New England

Biochar in 2009. The

company, run by Wells

with one partner, Ryan

Sverid of Eastham, has

shipped biochar-making

machines nationwide

and even overseas.

Working from Wells’s

workshop on Holmes

Road in Eastham, he

and Sverid design and

construct nearly every

component of each

system from scratch.

Though the business

has grown, Wells says

that he is not motivated

by money. “I’m just

not that way,” he said.

“I really look at what I

do from the standpoint

of helping the world.

I want to do what’s

best for everybody, not

just me.”

For Wells, this means

educating and enabling

others to create and

use biochar where they

live. “The machines,

we ship globally,” said

Wells. “But it’s the opposite

with the biochar

itself,” which he sells

only close to home.

“My philosophy has

always been, especially

if you’re talking about

carbon footprint, that

you don’t make something

in your back yard

and ship it to New Jersey,

much less Taiwan,”

he said. “You make it

here and use it here.”

Come fall, the fourthgrade

class will return

to the rows they planted

to dig the Eastham

turnips and to check

on the difference in

growth patterns between

plants that got

biochar and plants that

didn’t. Wells and Connie

will help students

weigh and record the

harvest — so there

will be a lesson in data

collection, too.

“Everything goes

into it,” Wells said of

the students’ project.

“History, science, botany,

biology, math.” The

kids, he adds, have a lot

of fun doing it, “and I

have a lot of fun doing

it with them.”

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16 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

DRAG DESK

Dina Martina Is in a Good Place

In her 20th Provincetown season, a rebel imparts an absurd brand of happiness

By Paul Sullivan

Dina Martina says she

was born nine months

early. “I looked like a

poached egg,” she confides.

Her grandmother

looks just like Colonel

Sanders. “Beautiful, hirsute

lady,” says Martina.

“She was an unsuccessful

wet nurse.” Her late

mother was a cocktail

waitress who, above all

else, loved meat. When

she died, Arby’s dimmed

their lights.

As for Martina, she’s

been an entertainer her

whole life, if not longer.

Despite everything,

her daughter loves

her. Martina says she’s

wearing her daughter’s

“goiter” as a bracelet:

it’s beautiful, right?

She’s pious, a polytheist

— her favorite is the

Greek god “Dialysis.”

He regularly appears in

her dreams.

Speaking of sleep, before

bed, Martina drinks

a tall glass of warm

tequila. It really helps:

she sleeps like a baby

who just drank tequila.

Her favorite drink,

though, is a whiskey and

Coke. To make one: Fill

a glass with ice, pour

some whiskey, some

more, yes, even more,

just another splash or

two or three. Oh, you’ve

already poured this

much, why not top it off?

Don’t forget the cola —

grab your pipette, the

one you keep handy on

your bar cart, and squirt

a few droplets into the

glass. There you have

it, a whiskey and Coke.

Delicious, no?

Martina loves to perform.

The pleasure is

hers, and you can’t have

it. She could have done

it without you, but she

wouldn’t have wanted

to. “I could not have

asked for a better life,”

she says. She’s witchy

and twitchy and manic,

but she’s alive. Dina


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 17

Martina, it’s clear to everyone

in the audience

of her drag show, “The

Comparable Miss Dina

Martina,” is in a very

good place right now.

It’s Martina’s 20th

season in Provincetown,

and she’s thrilled

to be back at the Crown

& Anchor, where the

1889 Paris Exposition

and 1964 New York

World’s Fair took place.

If it seems like the Eiffel

Tower is too tall to fit in

this room, well, it was

much younger back

then and had a late

growth spurt. This room

is hallowed ground, but

you should really go

next door to the Vault,

where the Mayflower

Compact was signed

after the Pilgrims

arrived from Mars.

The Crown & Anchor

is still a place of import

— Martina’s contract

stipulates she has to

get that in there. And

she needs to talk about

the food. “So, I came up

with this,” Martina says.

“The food here is restaurant-quality.”

If you don’t believe

Martina is finally happy,

just listen to her sing

and watch her dance.

The choreography is

maybe a little more

than she bargained for,

but she’s exultant. Her

covers of Lizzo’s “About

Damn Time” and Sophie

Ellis-Bextor’s “Murder

on the Dancefloor”

throw into question

It’s Dina Martina’s 20th season in Provincetown. (Photo courtesy Dina

Martina)

the value of being true

to the original. Fidelity

is passé. Strike out on

your own.

Martina has the

chops not just for a

one-woman show but

for a one-woman life.

“I love being single,”

she declares, arms cast

wide. She tried to return

to dating, but it

didn’t work out: “Not

only did the guy not like

NPR,” she says, “he hated

NPR.” Martina can’t

get through a day without

listening to her favorite

NPR show, “Wait

Wait … Don’t Touch

Me!” Another guy gifted

her a cupcake. “Nothing

but a gay muffin,” she

spits out. Her mother,

to whom much of the

show is an homage,

taught her that.

Another piece of

advice her mother dispensed

before she died

but after she passed

away: never skimp on

toilet paper or prostitutes.

“You get what you

pay for,” Martina says.

“My mother, she was

right about everything.”

Martina is overheating.

She runs backstage

for a paper towel, dabs

her face, crumples it up

in her hand, and there

it remains for the rest

of the show. “It’s not

sweat,” Martina informs

the audience. “It’s residual

me.” Her hair freshly

out of rollers, her

eyeshadow and lipstick

layered on so thick you

can see her from Wellfleet,

her blouse barely

fitting over her stomach,

her three brooches

catching the light, Martina

looks beautiful, if

only because she says

so. Halfway through the

show, an outfit change:

a dress with a slit that

runs past the navel.

She takes a sip of

water. “Bleh,” she grimaces.

“Water from a

can.” That’s the price of

Provincetown, which

you’ve been pronouncing

wrong, by the way.

It’s “Provence-town.”

There, isn’t that more

dignified?

Other words you’re

pronouncing wrong:

it’s not “character,” it’s

“chair-actor”; it’s not

“genre,” it’s “gonorrhea”;

“February” is actually

“Feh-brewery” and it’s

“Sep-tem-bra,” “Oct-ahbra,”

and “Novem-bra”;

“Google” is “Joogle”;

“unique” is actually pronounced

“eunuch.”

You’ve also been using

microphones wrong

your whole life: you

should breathe as loudly

as possible into them,

and you should be flopping

them side to side

with your wrist. A microphone

should either be

held at arm’s length from

your mouth or practically

inside it, but never

anywhere in between.

There’s plenty more, but

go see Martina, and you,

too, can be edified.

It’s true: Dina Martina

is in a good place

right now, but that

doesn’t mean she’s lost

her rebellious streak.

She’s still raging against

the norms, tearing civilization

apart one mispronunciation

at a time,

and building it into

something more beautiful,

if a little askew.

Don’t be confused. Martina

is still a renegade.

After all, the most iconoclastic

thing you can be

nowadays is happy.


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Journalism

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Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 19

Older Outer Cape cannabis afficionados seem to favor homegrown, and some have become experts at the

nuances of cultivating the plants. (Photos by Emily Schiffer)

HOMEGROWN

Aging Gardeners’ New Favorite

Crop: Cannabis

Elders find fun, community, and pain relief in growing and

smoking weed

By Molly Reinmann

WELLFLEET — The

Outer Cape is full of

children of the ’60s.

Some of those who have

green thumbs have

found in their home

gardens a new way of

reconnecting with their

roots: by growing their

own marijuana.

Some are passionate

gardeners who see pot

as another plant to add

to their catalog. Some

want easy access to marijuana

for pain relief.

Some give their crop to

friends and family. Some

just enjoy the stuff.

“Growing it is sort

of your connection to

the earth, and there’s

a mental satisfaction

that comes from that

that is different from

when you just walk

into a dispensary and

buy the product,” says

Mike Fee, a retired lawyer

who grows his own

cannabis in Truro.

The popularity of

homegrown here does

not seem to have had

an effect on dispensary

sales, according to Zachary

Ment, owner of the

Piping Plover, a cannabis

shop in Wellfleet.

“People can easily ferment

beer in their basements,

but that doesn’t

necessarily hurt liquor

or beer sales,” Ment

says. “Everyone grows

tomatoes out here, but

the supermarkets still

seem to sell a lot.”

In fact, Ment is all for

his neighbors’ hobby.

The uptick in seniors

growing their own pot

helps destigmatize the

herb, he says. As more

retired people grow pot

and share it with their

friends, the number of

those interested in the

product goes up.

Ment says that in the

three years since the

Piping Plover opened,

he has seen a softening

of biases against

marijuana among older

customers. About 20

percent of the people

who come to his shop —

between 2,000 and 3,000

per year — are over age

65, he says. “The stereotype

that old people

don’t like pot is just not

true anymore.”

Wil Sullivan of Wellfleet

rediscovered marijuana

upon his retirement

from a career as

a lawyer and began

growing his own shortly

after Massachusetts

legalized home cultivation

in 2018.

Now, he says, he probably

smokes six times

a week, almost always

partaking from his own

garden. While a lot of

his friends — nearly all

of whom get their weed

from him — smoke for

medicinal reasons, Sullivan

dabbles with marijuana

strictly for fun.

Wellfleet artist and

former select board

member Helen Miranda

Wilson is one of the medicinally

inclined. She

says she rarely smokes

recreationally, but she


20 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

started growing pot because

she was suffering

from severe hip pain

and wanted easy access

to cannabis for relief.

Wilson says she has not

grown marijuana since

she got her hip fixed in

late 2019.

Wilson wanted to

grow her own not only

because she loves to

garden but also because

she wanted to know exactly

where her pot was

coming from.

“I always want to

be really sure that the

stuff I am taking into

my body has not had

any pesticides used

on it,” she says, adding

that she has never

purchased marijuana

from a dispensary or

anywhere else. Many

senior smokers the Independent

interviewed

for this story said they

prefer homegrown pot

to the store-bought kind

because they know exactly

what is in it.

According to the

Cannabis Control Commission,

the use of registered

pesticides on

cannabis is prohibited

by both federal and

state law. Only 25b Minimum

Risk pesticides

are permitted for use on

Massachusetts crops.

An exception to the

aversion to shops that

many elders noted:

some do visit dispensaries

to buy edibles.

Ment says that edibles

are the most popular

Wil Sullivan always keeps two jars of his Wellfleet Weed in the car in case he sees a friend coming down the

street. “I roll down my window and give them a jar,” he says.

purchases among his

older customers.

The Joy of Gardening

Bucky Johns of Wellfleet

loves smoking pot.

But he has grown vegetables

his whole life and

says there are few joys

greater than a good harvest.

His cannabis harvest

is no different.

“It’s sort of like when

you get the perfect

tomato,” he says.

Fee has also always

been an avid gardener.

While he does smoke

once or twice a week, he

says, he grows the plant

mainly as an exercise in

horticulture.

“There are nuances

to doing it correctly,”

says Fee. “I think growing

your own is sort of

a niche for folks like

me who have the time,

and the space, and the

inclination.

“I know plenty of

folks who don’t have

a green thumb and

couldn’t care less about

gardening, but they still

want to get high,” he

adds. “They go to the

dispensary religiously.”

The pot growing process

is demanding and

requires more attention

than other plants,

Johns says. But that

doesn’t bother him.

“I spent my career in

manufacturing, and

that’s really what this

is,” he says. Johns currently

tends four plants

on a deck on the second

floor of his home.

The wet, warm climate

of the Outer Cape

makes marijuana plants

particularly prone to

mildew, Fee says, so

home cultivators need to

know a lot and give the

plants extra attention.

“But it’s really quite

cool to learn all of these

tricks about soil and genomes,”

says Fee, noting

that he learns most

of his gardening skills

from a community

farming group. “There’s

a lot to it.”

Fee currently has

three marijuana plants

growing in the sun outside

his house and two

that he keeps inside under

a light. The plants

are roughly five feet tall,

but he says they could

easily grow to eight

feet. Taller plants don’t

necessarily mean more

buds, though, Fee says

— he puts metal posts

and netting around

his plants to help them

grow out instead of up.

“You don’t want to

grow a Christmas tree,”

he says. “You don’t

want to have to get on

a ladder.”

Unlike Fee and Johns,


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 21

Sullivan never considered

himself much of

a gardener before he

started growing cannabis

in 2018.

“My first plant was

horrific looking,” he

says. “But once the

plants catch hold, they

just fly.”

Sullivan says he

learned how to grow

from friends who

garden — both those

who have marijuana in

their gardens and those

who don’t. “But most

of them do,” he says.

Currently, Sullivan has

six marijuana plants

in progress. He will begin

harvesting in early

September.

Each year, Sullivan

invites over a group of

friends to celebrate the

harvest. The group —

usually four or five men,

but sometimes more, he

says — sit on his front

porch and pick the buds

off the plants before

storing them in jars.

Giving It Away

Massachusetts state

guidelines dictate that

a residence with more

than one of-age individual

may grow up

to 12 cannabis plants

at home. When grown

properly, even the six

plants that Sullivan

grows produce far too

much pot for a single

household to consume.

As a result, many home

growers must give away

much of their crops.

Johns estimates that

he gives away 60 percent

of his marijuana

each year; for Fee, the

number is closer to 75

percent. Recipients are

usually family members

and close friends.

For Sullivan, giving

his pot away is his

favorite part of the

whole endeavor.

“When I rediscovered

smoking in my later

years, what I really

rediscovered was the

enjoyment of giving it

away,” he says.

Sullivan distributes

his product in jars,

which he adorns with

custom-made labels —

circular blue and green

stickers that say “Wellfleet

Weed.”

The recipients of his

jars are many, he says.

The circle started as a

group of close friends

but has grown to include

local businesspeople

and community

leaders, he says, like

the owner and employees

of a local restaurant

who enjoy the occasional

smoke. The endeavor

has instilled in Sullivan

a new sense of connection

to his Wellfleet

community.

“A friend of mine

joked, ‘You should run

for select board,’ ” he

says. “ ‘You’d win in a

landslide.’ ”

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Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 23

PORTUGUESE FESTIVAL

Peter Cook Tells

Stories to Remember

Keeping a Provincetown heritage alive,

one story at a time

By Oliver Egger

Fishing hundreds of

miles off the coast of

Provincetown in 1979,

the F/V Little Infant

was caught in a raging

tempest. Peter Cook, a

crewman on the 90-foot

scalloper, could see only

one other boat out there,

the F/V Leland J. “That

boat got in trouble,”

says Cook, “and started

taking on water.”

The Little Infant’s

crew watched the other

boat sink, “and then,”

Cook continues, “we

picked six guys out of

the life raft. Once the six

men were on board our

boat, I walked into the

wheelhouse and Captain

Adams said, ‘Well, Pedro,

that went well. How are

those men?’ He always

called me Pedro. And I

said, ‘They are shaken

up but lucky to be alive,

thanks to you.’ He pointed

out the window and

said, ‘Take a look out

there. I’ll bet you never

saw anything like that

before.’ And the other

boat had turned bottoms

up and was upside

down, drifting away.

And I said, ‘No, I never

did, George.’ And he

said, ‘Well, that’s a story

you can tell your grandchildren

someday.’ So,

I wrote the story.”

That story from

Cook’s fishing days

was then featured in

the 2023 Provincetown

Portuguese Festival

book and retold at the

Portuguese Writers and

Poets reading at the

Crown & Anchor.

Cook, 78, is a writer,

a filmmaker, a retired

fisherman and auto

mechanic, and a thirdgeneration

Provincetown

native. In 1872,

Cook’s then 16-year-old

grandparents arrived in

Provincetown from the

Azores, the archipelago

of volcanic islands in

the Atlantic nearly 900

miles west of Portugal.

Cook was born in 1945

in his uncle’s house

on the corner of Court

and Cudworth streets.

That same year, his father

bought a house on

Mechanic Street in the

West End, and Cook has

lived there ever since.

“I grew up there,”

he says. “Then I lived

upstairs with my young

family. I took care of my

Peter Cook at the Provincetown Commons with his notes and a copy of

his 2012 film, Dad I Wanna Go Fishin’. (Photo by Nancy Silva)

parents there, and when

they passed, I took over

the downstairs, and I

have a son that lives

upstairs. We’re deeprooted

in Provincetown.”

Cook is currently

writing the story of his

family’s passage from

the Azores. In his older

age, he says, he has

become more dedicated

to illuminating this

family history.

“I take care of the

family plot at the cemetery:

grandpa, grandma,

my parents, and

some of my aunts and

uncles,” he says. “When

I’m there thinking and

praying and looking at

the stones, I’m thinking

of the family and

I’m saying, ‘There’s got

to be so much more

to this story than this

place.’ So, I’ve tracked

it back.” Writing stories

has brought that history

to life. “Numbers

and names on paper are

bland,” says Cook. “But

if you tell it in a story,

it has a lot more substance

and meaning.”

Cook founded a writer’s

group that meets

every Tuesday at the

Provincetown Commons.


24 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

Cook in 1979, when he was a fisherman and engineer on the F/V Little

Infant, with his young son, Peter. (Photo courtesy Peter Cook)

Cook and his cousin Avis in the 1950s. (Photo courtesy Peter Cook)

The purpose of the

group, made up of

people who grew up

in Provincetown, is to

write their memories.

Together, they keep

their histories from

vanishing.

“There are so many

streets in Provincetown

that have only

one or two real locals,”

says Cook. He means

people who were born

and raised in Provincetown.

“Our history in

Provincetown, as far as

Portuguese ancestry, is

disappearing. And unfortunately,

the blessing

of the fleet is getting

smaller and smaller

each year. Soon it won’t

be anymore. The handwriting

is on the wall,

so I think it’s important

that we get our stories

out. I tell my writing

group, ‘If we don’t write

this stuff down, who’s

going to write it?’ ”

Writing isn’t the only

way Cook has told the

stories of his family in

Provincetown. With

Paul de Ruyter, he produced

and directed

the film Dad I Wanna

Go Fishin’, which premiered

at the Provincetown

International Film

Festival in June 2012.

The film includes footage

taken by Cook, his

father, and his brother.

They capture the images

and sounds of commercial

fishing on the

F/V Little Infant in the

1950s, ’60s, and ’70s.

In the film’s narration,

Cook says, “We

were fishermen. We

worked hard; we loved

it; we hated it. The romance

ends when you

leave the dock. That’s

the way it is. It’s in

the blood.”

This fall, Cook will

travel to the Azores

to see for the first

time the village of São

Pedro on the south coast

of São Miguel Island,

where his grandparents

are from. He knows of

places there that hold

his history: the church

that his family attended

and the birthplaces

of his grandmother and

grandfather.

“As I like to say, I’m

going ahead through

the days and back

through the years,”

says Cook.

Cook remains an engaged

member of his

family and the Provincetown

community,

but he finds solace in

the past, writing and

sharing it.

“I live my life for

my wife and my grandchildren,”

he says. He

moves forward, but in

his mind and heart and

soul, he says, he goes

back through time.


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 25

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26 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

LOCAL HISTORY

Behind the Scenes

at the Portuguese Festival

Beverley Ferreira has always been one to help

Provincetown ‘share the heritage’

By Emma Madgic

PROVINCETOWN —

Beverley Ferreira is

known as “Grandma”

by her coworkers at

the Lobster Pot, where

she has been working

as a hostess since 2013.

Ferreira, who turned 81

last week, has no intention

of leaving anytime

soon. “As long as I’m

healthy enough, I’ll be

there,” she says.

That’s a good thing,

says Rita Speicher, who

has been manager of

this Commercial Street

institution for 29 years.

“She’s a presence that

cannot be duplicated.”

Born Beverley Cook

in Provincetown in

1941, she has never

lived anywhere else.

She did contemplate

leaving once, though,

during her senior year

at Provincetown High

School, when she was

offered a job at the Pentagon

in Washington,

D.C. But then her boyfriend,

Gordon Ferreira,

gave her a diamond ring

and asked her to stay. “I

didn’t think twice about

it,” says Beverley.

Less than a year later,

in 1960, the pair were

married and moved

into a little apartment

on Mechanic Street.

While Gordon went to

work with his father

(Jesse “Burr” Ferreira

was the proprietor of

Burr’s Barber Shop),

Beverley started out at

her sister Eva’s restaurant,

Tip for Tops’n.

In 1973, Beverley and

Gordon bought Stormy

Harbor, a “mostly American”

restaurant at 277

Commercial St. — just

across Lopes Square

and about a block

west of where she now

works. Although they

kept the restaurant’s

name, they changed

the menu to feature a

selection of Portuguese

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Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 27

recipes handed down

from Beverley’s and

Gordon’s families. What

everybody loved best,

she says, was their

squid stew.

Life at Stormy Harbor

was busy. “Gordon

ran the back, and I ran

the front,” Ferreira says.

“And in between, when

the sandwich girl didn’t

show up, I was making

sandwiches. When

the bartender didn’t

show up, I was making

drinks. When you own

the place, you gotta do

everything.”

The couple held various

fundraisers at the

restaurant, especially to

raise money for scholarships

for the kids, she

says. When the Knights

of Columbus held their

events, she remembers,

the “men would wait on

the tables.”

According to Tracey

Rose, Ferreira’s second

child, her mother’s community-minded

ways

extended to her home

life. Ferreira encouraged

her kids to invite

their friends over for

pajama parties and

Friday-night sleepovers

when she was growing

up, Rose says.

Ferreira also went

to community events

hosted by others: “My

mom and dad would

go down to the Holiday

Inn,” says Rose. “They’d

go out dancing and then

have breakfast at my

mother’s house.

Beverley Ferreira at her post at the Lobster Pot. (Photo by Emma Madgic)

“Mom goes in with

two feet,” Rose says

of her mother’s commitment

to the Provincetown

community.

“She’s a force to be

reckoned with.”

The community

event Ferreira is most

fiercely devoted to is

the annual Portuguese

Festival and Blessing

of the Fleet, which is

taking place this weekend.

She and Gordon

opened Stormy Harbor

on the weekend of the

blessing 49 years ago.

She has been a festival

volunteer for the past

20 years.

The Portuguese Festival

as it is known today

began only 26 years ago,

Ferreira says. The yearly

event used to include

only the Blessing of the

Fleet, she recalls, during

which fishing crews

would invite their families

and friends onto

their boats for a massive

feast after each

boat had been blessed.

The festival, which

this year includes an

opening night at the

Provincetown Inn, a

soup tasting, and a fado

performance, among

many other events, is

important because it

is a reminder of Provincetown’s

Portuguese

roots, Ferreira says. She

helps coordinate the festival

“so that everyone

knows we’re still here.”

As the fishing fleet

has grown smaller in

Provincetown, Ferreira

says, a lot of the younger

Portuguese fishermen

have moved to New

Bedford and Fall River,

where they can make

better wages. Without

a bigger fleet, she says,

“we don’t have the Portuguese

young people

that we need to keep

our heritage going.”

Nevertheless, the

festival is an important

display of Provincetown’s

rich history,

Ferreira says. She

enjoys the generosity

of the endeavor, too.

“It’s all volunteers,”

she says. “Nobody

gets paid.”

When she’s not

working on the festival

logistics, Ferreira

is at the Lobster Pot

most Mondays, Tuesdays,

and Fridays from

11 a.m. to 4 p.m.

“Everyone is happy

to see her face when

she walks through the

door,” Speicher says.

“She takes no guff from

anybody either.”

“There are very few

Beverleys left,” says

Tim McNulty, one of

the owners and head

chef at the Lobster Pot.

He has known Ferreira

since childhood. “There

are very few people

left in town who know

what it was like when

we were kids,” he says.

“She is a historian

because she carries

those memories,” says

Mike Potenza, the Lobster

Pot’s director of

marketing, who went

to school with one of

Ferreira’s daughters.

Speicher says that,

although Ferreira has

seen the community

go through so many

changes, “She isn’t one

of those who complain

about change all the

time, how the old days

were better than the

new days.”

Instead, Ferreira “is

the kind of person who

embraces change,” Speicher

says. “With her

faith and her positive

outlook on things, she’s

open to it all.”



Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 29

LATE SHIFT

When a Flea Market Find

Is a New Direction

Old friends reflect on second acts, begun on the

drive-in blacktop

By Paul Sullivan

“I love murdering

people,” says Donna

Walo Clancy in her

Boston accent, letting

out a slight giggle,

twirling her ponytail

with her left hand,

wearing an apron. She is

taking a break from her

shift at the snack bar at

the Wellfleet Drive-In,

standing outside in the

blazing sun.

Clancy is talking

about murder mysteries,

which she authors and

prints herself and sells

during the summer on

Saturdays and Sundays

at the Wellfleet Flea

Market, held in the lot at

the drive-in during the

day. Clancy is standing

in front of a small

folding table she has

set up just outside the

snack bar, close enough

that she can keep an eye

on it while serving food

and drinks. On the table

are 12 of the books she

has written.

Some of the titles:

Death by Chowder, a

murder mystery set on

the Cape; Dad’s Final

Gift, a holiday-themed

mystery; and Until Jam

Do Us Part, one in a

series about a string of

murders that occur in a

jelly shop.

A synopsis of Death

by Chowder from

Clancy herself: “It’s a

fictional town in Cape

Cod. It’s got two main

characters, Jay Hallett

and Roland Knowles,

who’s a ghost. He takes

care of the lighthouse

on Anchor Point.

There’s a massive

treasure hunt going

on, because Roland

was killed back in 1910

when he found pirate

treasure. He buried it

and he still won’t tell

anybody where it is.”

Clancy’s favorite

character she’s ever

written is Gladys

Twiddle, “who dyes

her hair to match

the brightly colored

flowers she’s growing in

her garden.”

All of Clancy’s books

are family friendly.

“There’s no blood and

guts; there’s no sex or

drugs,” she explains.

“These are all cozy

mysteries.” They’re

available for purchase,

one for $10, or two

for $18.

Clancy grew up in

Rockland. She served

21 years in the military.

Afterwards, she found

herself — and she

doesn’t know how, she

says — divorced with

three children, living

in Wellfleet. “Happily

divorced, mind you,”

she says.

She wrote her first

story in the third

grade in 1968. “I got

an A on it,” she says,

adding that she really

got into writing when,

as a child, she started

reading Nancy Drew.

“I just love Nancy Drew.”

As Clancy is talking,

her friend Al Chisholm

— who operates a

berry company out of

Plymouth and sells his

products at the flea

market, mostly jams

and sauces, one of them

called “Al’s Wiener

Whacking Sauce,”

which is a jalapeño and

pepper relish — comes

up and tells Clancy

that she has to tell the

reporter about how she

used to “dance at the

greasy pole.”

“You’re so bad,”

Clancy says to him.

“Don’t be telling my

secrets.”

“I come with a roll of

ones every day to this

place,” Chisholm says.

There used to be,

Clancy explains, a pole

right outside the snack

bar and she and her

friends used to joke

about her pole dancing

and “earning tips.”

Chisholm and

Clancy, as it happens,

have collaborated on

Chisholm’s cookbook,

Al’s Backwoods Berries.

Chisholm supplied

Clancy with his recipes

and she organized

them and came up

with a throughline for

the book.

Chisholm began his

company 10 years ago

after his wife died, which

was around the same

time he lost his job in

the 2008 financial crash.

His brother owned a

bottling company and he

suggested that Chisholm

start making jams

and jellies.

“I said, ‘Who the hell

eats jams and jellies?’

I don’t even like fruit,”

Chisholm says. “But

now I sell 30,000 jars a

year.”

“When I had my

labels made, they told

me that if I came down

here to the Wellfleet

Flea Market and I did

well here, I could swing

it,” he says. “If you can

make it at the Wellfleet

Flea Market, you can

make it anywhere.”


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Ann Purcell, detail of Fast Summer, Gift of the artist and Berry Campbell, New York

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Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 31

RIGHTS

Ngina Lythcott Is This Year’s

Tim McCarthy Human Rights Champion

‘Right now is a time when we have to make some big decisions …

we are not going backwards,’ she says

By Aden Choate

PROVINCETOWN —

Ngina Ruth Lythcott has

been named the 2023

Tim McCarthy Human

Rights Champion. She’ll

receive the award at a

breakfast hosted by

the Barnstable County

Human Rights Advisory

Commission on Jan. 8.

“Ngina epitomizes

the spirit of Tim Mc

Carthy,” says Jay Critchley,

founder of the Provincetown

Community

Compact, which manages

the Tim Fund, the

organization behind the

award. The fund was

established in memory

of the late HIV-AIDS

activist who countered

homophobia with documentary

videography.

The award recognizes

Lythcott for her

more than 20 years of

work on Black women’s

health, with students

and schools, including

nine years on the

Provincetown School

Committee, and with

Barnstable County police

captains. Lythcott

has also been central

in planning the town’s

Juneteenth events.

She did not earn the

award alone, Lythcott

says. She credits a long

list of teachers and

mentors with shaping

her approach to social

change — among

them her wife, Byllye

Avery, who received a

MacArthur Foundation

“genius” grant for her

work revolutionizing

Black women’s health

care in 1989.

The couple share

three children, two

black-and-white cats,

and one grandson,

whose college graduation

they attended

in Tampa, Fla. last week.

They have both had careers

as advocates focused

on reproductive

and racial justice.

Lythcott and Avery,

who married at the

Pilgrim Monument in

2005, met almost 40

years ago in Atlanta at

a meeting of the Black

Women’s Health Project

(now Health Imperative),

an initiative Avery

had just started. Lythcott

had recently arrived

in the city for her thenhusband’s

appointment

as dean of Morehouse

University Medical

School. She was fresh

off a job at Dartmouth

College and had done

grassroots advocacy

work for Planned Parenthood

of New England.

While she was

at Dartmouth, she won

a $5 million grant from

the Kaiser Family Foundation

to implement a

model of community

development she had

begun to devise during

her doctoral studies

at UCLA.

Lythcott brought

the project to Atlanta,

where she focused on an

under-resourced public

housing project called

Carver Homes. She was

drawn to it because, she

says, everyone told her

it was a lost cause. “People

said, ‘Don’t go there.’

Trash wasn’t collected.

The school bus wasn’t

stopping,” she says.

Unlike previous projects

she had spearheaded,

Lythcott says, this

time she couldn’t get

through to the women

she was trying to

reach. “They were so

depressed that all they

could do was get their

children out of the

house for school in the

morning,” she says.

Lythcott knew she

had to change her approach.

That came, she

says, through her relationship

with Avery.

Avery introduced

Lythcott to self-help,

then a relatively radical

concept not only in

psychology but in public

health. Instead of

focusing on community

outcomes, self-help allowed

individual experiences

to be put on the

table. This had rippled

out from sessions at the

1983 First National Conference

on Black Women’s

Health Issues, an

event Avery organized

at Spelman College and

which was the subject

of a Nov. 11 story in the

New York Times.

In one photo from

the conference, a banner

strung behind the

podium proclaimed:

“We are sick and tired

of being sick and tired.”

The conference explored

the link between

Black women’s health

and racism, their disproportionately

high

rates of hypertension,


32 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

diabetes, and cervical

cancer, among other

diseases, and the ways

they were systematically

excluded from reproductive

health and

mental health services.

One session, Lythcott

recalls, asked those present

what they adored

about themselves. Few

could answer the question.

Avery says that was

because Black women

had been conditioned

by family, church, and

society to care for everything

except themselves.

“When the world repeatedly

tells you that you

aren’t enough, you start

to believe it,” she says.

When Lythcott adopted

Avery’s approach,

inviting the women of

Carver Homes to meet

in small groups to talk

about what their lives

really looked like behind

the scenes, she

found their stories often

included experiences

of abuse and mental

illness. “Black women

were taught to be the

muses of the world,”

says Avery. “We taught

them how to start to put

themselves first.”

Within six months,

the Carver Homes

community was transformed

from the inside

out, Lythcott says.

Organizing this way

worked for three reasons,

she says: “First

of all, you don’t die

holding onto a secret.

Second, two or three

other people often have

the same story. Third,

you’re in a safe space

to cry and wail.” The

approach she and Avery

call “co-counseling”

meant the women were

no longer alone in their

private struggles.

In their Provincetown

home, cozily enveloped

in the scents of

woodsy Nag Champa incense

and fresh-brewed

Nespresso, Lythcott and

Avery show a visitor

their art collection. It is

a mosaic of their histories,

both individual and

shared. In the retelling,

they often finish one another’s

sentences.

In one corner of the

dining room is a mahogany

statue of a father

and son from Tanzania.

Lythcott lived there in

the early 1970s after finishing

degrees in nursing

and social work.

That is where she came

to be called Ngina, she

says. After she helped

a woman address her

baby’s protein deficiency

with a change of

diet, people came to her

with cuts, bruises, and

burns. Instead of treating

them directly, she

collaborated with the

local healer, making it

clear that she was there

to support his work, not

take over. People started

calling her Ngina,

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Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 33

Ngina Lythcott, right, at home with Byllye Avery, her partner in life and in activism. (Photo by Elias Duncan)

a Bantu word meaning

“one who serves.”

Later, when Lythcott

was out in the bush doing

project evaluation,

local children followed

her around, calling out

“mzungu,” which meant

“white lady.” Lythcott is

Black, but they saw her

as different, an American

and an outsider. An

older woman suddenly

emerged from a hut and

addressed the children:

“ ‘Do you not recognize

your auntie? She was

taken from us long ago.

Ask her what it is like

to cross the ocean,’ ”

says Lythcott.

As Lythcott puts it,

she arrived in the village

holding the name Ngina

under her arm and left

with it sewn into her

soul. Fifty years later,

Lythcott says that moment

of recognition was

the most pivotal in her

life up to that point.

On the butteryellow

walls of their

dining room are a Howard

University exhibit

poster for the artist Loïs

Mailou Jones, a photograph

of Avery’s grandfather,

who tapped

Georgia pine trees for

turpentine, and a print

depicting the 1839

Amistad revolt, in which

53 men kidnapped from

Sierra Leone rose up

against their captors

on a schooner en route

to the slave trade capital

of Havana, Cuba.

Their case was heard

in the United States,

and the Supreme Court

decided in their favor.

The decision read “...it

was the ultimate right

of all human beings in

extreme cases to resist

oppression, and

to apply force against

ruinous injustice.”

Avery says she first encountered

this story in

the rotunda of Talladega

College, her alma mater

in Alabama. It was the

first time she had white

professors, she said,

many of whom were

Jewish intellectuals

who had fled Germany.

Amid the red scare of

McCarthyism, she says,

they taught her Arthur

Miller’s The Crucible.

Talladega, like other

historically Black

colleges in the deep

South, became central

to the growth of

the burgeoning civil

rights movement. Martin

Luther King Jr. was

Avery’s commencement

speaker in 1959, but it

was his speech from a

1956 Founder’s Day celebration

at the college

that affected her most

deeply, she says.

King spoke of the

three types of love:

erotic, platonic, and redemptive.

Redemption,

he said, was the most

important. He reminded

Avery and her peers

that they did not have

the luxury to sit on the

sidelines as the world

changed. “He said, ‘You

have to forgive people

for the horrors they’ve

done,’ ” says Avery.

When Avery and

Lythcott look toward the

future and see younger

generations uniting in

the face of contemporary

attacks on bodily autonomy

and civil rights,

they feel hope. The cat

they call Lady Darkness

weaves underfoot.

Avery places her hand

on Lythcott’s arm.

“Sometimes God is

laughing, sometimes

he’s crying,” Lythcott

says. “I feel right now

is a time in humanity

when we have to make

some big decisions. We

were not put here to

be inferior. We are not

going backwards.”


34 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

Pilar Clements rides her Arabian, Adriano, on Ryder Beach in Truro on April 26. (Photos by Nancy Bloom)

HORSES

Roaming Trails and Beaches

and Finding Freedom on

Horseback

A few in Wellfleet, mostly women, keep an Outer Cape

equestrian tradition

By Jack Styler

WELLFLEET — Barbara

Austin got her first horse,

Duchess, when she was

10. The two went everywhere

together, and

their trust in each other

was absolute.

At Wellfleet’s kettle

ponds, Austin could

park Duchess in the water

and use her back as a

diving board. She could

sit on Duchess’s head,

and Duchess would

raise it, sliding Austin

down onto her back.

Austin could even ride

Duchess standing up.

“I think after having

that kind of experience

with your first horse,

you’re never going

to not have a horse,”

says Austin.

For the past 54 years,

alongside her prodigious

career as an oysterman,

Austin has

kept horses one way

or another in Wellfleet

— usually right in the

back yard of her house

off Route 6. She is one

of a loosely connected

but dedicated group of

people — most of them

women — who have

continued to keep horses

even as farms have

become few and far

between here.

When she was young,

Austin says, “most of the

guys had minibikes and

most of the girls had

horses.” Mounted on

their chosen modes of

transport, they would

ride all over the Outer

Cape from Great Island

to Nauset Road and as

far north as Provincetown.

Today, Austin has two

horses: Cody, a 32-yearold

Morgan-quarter

horse cross that Austin

got in exchange for

five bushels of oysters,

and Luna, a 15-year-old

Welsh mountain pony.

“There used to be

a big group of us that

all had horses here in

Wellfleet,” she says. But

as her group ages, she

adds, there are fewer

horsewomen coming

up behind them. “Property

has been becoming

more expensive,

so it’s become harder

and harder to find a

place to keep a horse,”

says Austin.

According to Wellfleet

Health and Conservation

Dept. records, the town

issued stable permits

to 10 properties in the

past four years. So far

in 2024, there are only

eight active permits.

Pilar Clements and

her husband, oyster

farmer Jacob Dalby, feel

lucky to have found the

right house for keeping

horses in Wellfleet. Clements,

a Texas native

who spent summers in

Wellfleet, where she

met Dalby, is from a

horse-riding family outside

Austin. So, when

they found a red house

with a paddock already

built in the front yard


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 35

on Peace Valley Road,

they knew it was home.

Today, the paddock

is home to Theo, a thoroughbred

descendant

of two triple-crown

champions, including

the famous Secretariat,

and Adriano, a chestnut

Arabian.

The two horses keep

the couple busy. Every

day, Clements wakes

up at 6:30 a.m. to give

Theo and Adriano their

first helping of hay. The

pen must be scooped

for poop, which accumulates

at the rate of

roughly one wheelbarrowful

per day. They

compost it for neighbors

who use it in their

gardens. Every eight

weeks, the horses’ shoes

must be replaced. Once

a year, a veterinarian

comes to tranquilize

Theo and Adriano so

that their back teeth can

be filed down, a practice

called “floating” that

prevents horses’ teeth

from becoming too long

and impeding digestion.

Keeping horses is not

inexpensive, especially

on the Outer Cape. The

farrier, Alisha Fitzpatrick,

comes from Rochester;

the large animal

veterinarian drives from

Plymouth. Food is expensive,

and horses eat a lot.

Clements says she gets a

good deal— $10 per bale

— on hay, but the two

horses eat a bale a day.

For Clements and

Dalby, however, the la-

Barefoot and bareback, Ferran Dalby leads the way on a ride with her

mother, Pilar Clements.

bor and costs are worth

it. Theo and Adriano

are a constant source

of entertainment. The

couple watch from their

second-floor window as

Theo and Adriano trot

and play in the front

yard. Their daughter,

Ferran, is an avid horsewoman,

too. And about

twice a week, they ride.

On their rides, which

can be 5 to 10 miles

long, Clements says

they are not just passengers

but stewards of the

trails. The family maintains

the old dirt paths

that snake through the

woods, often clearing

stray branches for hikers,

cyclists, and other

equestrians who use

the paths.

“There’s nothing

more freeing than being

on a horse,” says

Nora Clark-Jennings,

who lives on Old Kings

Highway in Wellfleet

and whose quarter

horse, Woody’s Wish,

lives in the barn in her

front yard. She rides to

see the sunrise over the

ocean and the sunset

over the bay.

Clark-Jennings grew

up in Wellfleet and was

inspired to keep horses

by her dad, who was

from Arkansas. Though

Woody’s Wish sometimes

“acts like a little

kid,” she says, he was

named after her late father,

Laymon Woodrow

“Woody” Clark Sr.

“I grew up with my

dad’s stories,” says

Clark-Jennings. Those

stories, and being with

horses now, take her

back to a different time.

The evidence of modern-day

life, however,

is hard to keep at bay

on horseback. Austin,

Clements, Dalby, and

Clark-Jennings all say

that they encounter

the occasional obnoxious

driver, especially

on Route 6, which they

must travel to get to

certain trails.

Austin and Clements

both say they have had

run-ins with overzealous

park rangers who

warned them that horses

are not allowed in

the National Seashore.

One told Austin it was

because horses count as

vehicles. Clements says

she was told her horse

violated a “no pets”

rule. A representative

from the Cape Cod National

Seashore told the

Independent in an email

that “horseback riding

at the Seashore isn’t

super common, but it

is permitted.”

In many ways, that

mixup reflects the general

understanding of

horse culture on the

Outer Cape: it’s uncommon

enough that some

doubt whether it’s even

allowed, but there are

few rules against it.

The town of Wellfleet

has some regulations.


36 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

Barbara Austin with her Welsh pony, Luna, and her 32-year-old

Morgan-quarter horse, Cody.

Nora Clark-Jennings with Woody’s Wish, the horse she named after her

father.

Permits are required,

and stables must be

checked once a year to

make sure the animals

are healthy and that

their waste is being disposed

of properly. Abutters

must also give their

permission for a new

stable to be authorized.

But otherwise, the

feeling of freedom

Clark-Jennings describes

seems to define

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the experience.

Once a woman in a

BMW with New York

plates rolled her window

down in astonishment

when she saw Clements

and Dalby riding

on Route 6. “Horses?

You can have horses on

Cape Cod?” she asked.

“It’s a free country,”

said Clements.

“You can have horses

anywhere.”

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38 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

UNSOLVED MYSTERY

You’ve Got Gail

Trying to escape the notorious RMV road tester is no sure thing

By (Saskia) Max(well) Keller

Fail Gail. The epithet

strikes fear in the hearts

of high schoolers, yet no

one seems to know her

real name.

I am speaking, of

course, of the infamous

road test examiner at

the South Yarmouth Registry

of Motor Vehicles.

She has been administering

road tests for 15 to

20 years, estimates Geoff

Leary, a driving instructor

at Nauset Regional

High School.

Neither Leary nor

Dave Potts, Nauset’s

driver education program

coordinator,

knows her full name.

Attempts to query

the RMV were unsuccessful.

This reporter

was put on hold for

two hours, listening

to a clanky Mozart piano

concert on loop.

What would have been

a proper investigation

has become an

unsolved mystery.

Nevertheless, Fail

Gail is truly the gatekeeper

for most young

would-be drivers on

Cape Cod. As of 2015,

she was the only examiner

at the South Yarmouth

Registry. I had

her twice, six years

apart, almost to the day.

I took my first driving

test when I was a senior

in high school. I remember

messing up the parallel

parking, and Gail

saying, “Is this parallel

parking or crooked parking?”

I don’t remember

exactly what her final

words to me were, but

it was something along

the lines of “You are a

danger to society.”

I didn’t rush back to

retake the test. I didn’t

need a driver’s license

as a student living in

Boston or Scotland.

When I returned to the

Cape because of the

pandemic, however, I

needed one for my job

elleet

Spirits

Shoppe

309 Main St., Wellfleet

508-349-3731

wellfleetspirits@gmail.com


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 39

at the Independent. But

the South Yarmouth

RMV was closed. After

months of waiting, I

was able to schedule a

test in Plymouth.

On the day of the

test, heading off Cape,

I thought I would be

safe from Gail, but I was

wrong. She had packed

up her clipboard for

Plymouth. I recognized

her immediately. Six

years later, as if fulfilling

some strange

prophecy, we were face

to face, or rather, mask

to mask.

I was later able to

confirm it by comparing

my two learner’s

permits. She signed

the first one with her

I.D. number, and the

second with a large,

ominous “G.” The handwriting

on the dates,

however, was the same.

I settled into the unfamiliar

car — all road

tests are currently in

state vehicles — and

puzzled over how to

start it. I had never before

driven a hybrid

with a key. “You should

know how to do that,”

said Gail.

After I nailed my

parallel parking, she

immediately deflated

my confidence by asking,

“Why are you so

nervous?” I wasn’t

nervous before she

asked, but now I was.

“If you were a better

driver, you wouldn’t

be nervous,” she said.

An admittedly amateur handwriting analysis shows the judgments

rendered on two learner’s permits were made by the Cape’s most famous

road test examiner, known as Fail Gail. (Photo by [Saskia] Max[well] Keller)

Thrown off, I tapped a

cone pulling out of the

parallel parking.

As I got sweeter,

she got meaner. Her

hand hovered over the

emergency brake.

The fateful moment

came when, pulling up

to an intersection and

starting to turn left, I

carefully said, “I see

there is a car coming

from the left, but there

is plenty of room.” She

pulled the brake —

an automatic fail.

Luckily, I easily

passed the road test

with a different examiner

a month later. Still,

I couldn’t shake how

intimidating Fail Gail

had been.

It was easy to gather

other people’s Fail

Gail stories. While most

confirmed the accuracy

of her nickname, a few

were surprisingly positive.

Several interviewees

asked for anonymity,

including one who

said, “I’ve heard that

she favors boys and

people who come with

a driving instructor

instead of a parent.”

Kiah Ruml, a Nauset

High graduate, said,

“I was really nervous

and did pretty horribly

on my driving test, but

right when it was over

she said, ‘You definitely

need some more practice,

but the only reason

I’m going to pass you is

because I don’t want to

see your face here at

the RMV again.’ ”

“She did not smile

once, and said everything

like she was

reciting a verse from

the Bible,” said Bella

Hay, a student at Nauset

High. “I knew I messed

up every time she scribbled

on her clipboard. I

swear the woman never

looked at the road. She

was constantly writing

on that clipboard.”

Hay said that, after she

failed, she made sure to

schedule her next test

for a Tuesday. She had

heard that was “Gail’s

only day off.”

Becca Stevens, another

Nauset graduate,

said that when she

“botched” the parallel

parking, “Gail started

talking me through my

next steps … It was oddly

comforting.” After

the test, Gail gave her a

lecture and handed her

a pamphlet. Stevens assumed

she had failed.

But Gail said, “Turn it

around!” It said she

had passed.

If I had been able

to interview Fail Gail

for this story, I would

have asked her why

she became a road test

examiner. Perhaps she

believes she is cutting

down on the number of

accidents. The profession

must be relatively

dangerous. Psychologically,

unkindness might

not be a surprising

occupational hazard.

Who knows? Perhaps

if it weren’t for

Fail Gail, there would

be even more Massholes

on the road.


40 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

GREAT PLANES

As Long as There’s No Wind,

Kenny Dutra Flies

A flyer of radio-controlled aircraft takes to the skies in Truro

By Sophie Mann-Shafir

TRURO — As Hurricane

Lee grazed Cape Cod,

Kenny Dutra watched

high winds whip at

branches in the woods

outside his Truro

home. It sent his many

birdfeeders spinning,

making them impossible

targets for their

avian patrons. Those

birds’ usual flight patterns

were not the only

ones interrupted by

the storm.

Dutra’s own 46-flyer

collection of radiocontrolled

aircraft were

grounded that day until

daybreak of the next.

“If there’s no wind,

I’m flying,” says Dutra,

79, whose “full-time

hobby” — besides walking

his dog — of flying

radio-controlled planes

and helicopters takes

him to Head of the

Meadow most mornings

around 6 a.m. On

some days he goes at

dusk as well, always

steering clear of the

federally protected

piping plovers.

Dawn and dusk

are solo flying times

for Dutra, though he’s

known to rangers and

police, who receive sporadic

calls in the summer

from concerned

residents mistaking

his sturdy, polished,

unmanned aircraft,

vibrant in the distance,

for low-flying planes.

Those reports happen

often enough, Dutra

says, that he gets a

friendly wave from responding

officers, who

sometimes stay a bit to

watch him fly.

On weekends, Dutra

makes his way west

to Discover Flying RC

Kenny Dutra’s Space Walker is ready for takeoff at Head of the Meadow in Truro. (photos by Nancy Bloom)

in Marstons Mills, a

club for people who fly

radio-controlled planes.

There, he takes to the

skies with other aficionados

who are “mostly

on the senior side,” he

says. The fields there

can accommodate two

or three aircraft at a

time. Hanging out there

is about more than just

controlling your own

flying machine. He goes

because there “you can

have a cup of coffee and

watch other people fly,”

says Dutra.

It’s lucky that Marstons

Mills is on this

side of the bridge.

Dutra, who discovered

radio-controlled flying

during his junior year

at Provincetown High

School, wouldn’t like to

chase his hobby farther.

“I have panic attacks if

I go past the Sagamore

Bridge,” says the flyer, a

Cape Codder to the core.

In the basement of his

Truro home, which he

and his wife, Virginia,

built 39 years ago, Dutra

has a workshop dedicated

to maintenance

of his craft. There, he

assembles new planes

from kits and tinkers

with those already in

his collection. Kits can

come in all states of

readiness, says Dutra;

some flyers put in their

own motors, but usually

electronics are included.

Back in the day, he

says, parts were glued

together; more recent


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 41

On the tailgate is Dutra’s Fusion 360 helicopter, one of the many 3D helicopters in his collection. He does all the repairs on them himself.

models are held together

by nuts and bolts.

As a hobbyist, Dutra

is exempt from the

Cape Cod National Seashore’s

prohibition of

unmanned aircraft. But

several of his planes

have helmeted, aviator-goggled

figurines

inside. In what is perhaps

a testament to his

J3 Piper Cub days, Dutra

insists that those figures

are not passengers.

“You’ve got to have

pilots in a plane,”

he says.

As a young man,

Dutra did spend eight

years in Connecticut,

testing jet engines at the

Pratt & Whitney aerospace

factory there. For

two summers, Dutra

also worked at the Provincetown

Municipal

Airport, where he tried

his hand at piloting a J3

Piper Cub — a lightweight,

versatile monoplane

he describes as

“basic, easy-to-fly” —

though flying caused

him nothing but anxiety.

“I don’t think I was

ever relaxed,” says

Dutra, who will take a

radio-controlled craft

over a real plane any

day. “It’s a lot safer and

cheaper,” he says.

Dutra with his Pitts biplane in early spring. These real-scale light aerobatic

biplanes were designed by Curtis Pitts in the 1940s; they dominated

world aerobatic competition in the 1960s and ’70s


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Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 43

RADIO

Matty Dread Is an

‘Ambassador of Love’

Meet the man who keeps

WOMR spinning

By Aden Choate

Matthew Dunn, the

operations manager at

Provincetown’s Outermost

Community Radio

(WOMR), has waistlength

dreadlocks and

wears galaxy-print

shirts. Both amplify his

gravitational pull.

In his corner office

at 494 Commercial St.,

he engages a visitor the

same way he does his

radio audience, offering

an immersive auditory

experience. He talks

in a warm, deep voice

punctuated by the staccato

cadences of something

like Beat poetry —

free-flowing and intent

on bucking convention.

Dunn has been with

WOMR since 2002,

when the station lived

in a condo on Center

Street. He started out as

a DJ on the midnight to

3 a.m. graveyard shift.

Supporting himself with

various side hustles —

tending bar, waiting

tables, and DJing for

weddings — he worked

as a volunteer for 10

years before becoming

the full-time operations

manager in 2012.

Dunn introduces

himself as Matt, but

most people know him

as Matty Dread. The

nickname predates his

time on the radio; he

got it at the University

of Vermont where, immersed

in the reggae of

the late 1980s, he decided

to “go dread.”

“I was a young hippie

with an Irish afro,”

he says. “I was never

seriously into Rastafarianism,

but my hair

represents my commitment

to breaking down

cultural norms. At this

point I think I would

still be Matty Dread

even if I cut my hair or

it all falls out.”

Dunn hosts the blues

show Morning Madness

on Wednesdays from

5 to 6 a.m. and The Soul

Funky Train on Thursdays

from 1 to 4 p.m.

On any given Thursday,

a listener might follow

him through a playlist

of jazz, hip-hop, rock,

reggae, and soul, held

together by the fiber of

funk that Dunn threads

to connect them.

“The vast majority

of the time, I’m playing

music that I suspect

most people will never

have heard before,” he

says. He thinks listeners

get more joy that way.

“But I do try to provide

a few signposts along the

way. I’ll throw in Aretha

Franklin or something

because it helps put everything

else in context.”

Dunn was born and

raised in Syracuse, N.Y.,

studied philosophy in

college, and moved to

Cape Cod in the early

aughts with his wife,

Beth, who grew up here

listening to her father,

Jim Mulligan, on his

long-running WOMR

show, Mulligan Stew.

Now, Beth and Matty

co-host the station’s

Outer Cape News show

every Friday afternoon.

Matty drives to the studio

in Provincetown

from their home in

Dennis at least once a

day, sometimes more,

depending on need.

DJing is just one part

of Dunn’s job. “My real

job is making sure the

radio stays on,” he says.

“I ask Matty technical

questions often,” says

Denya LeVine of Wellfleet,

who has been a

WOMR DJ since 1985.

“He put together a manual

that you can look at

for almost anything you

need to know.”

In addition to making

the schedule and

providing tech support,

Dunn trains and manages

the 100 or so DJs who

sustain the station’s programming

across a wide

spectrum of genres. “It’s

Matthew Dunn, a.k.a. DJ Matty

Dread, at WOMR, where he hosts

Morning Madness and The Soul

Funky Train. (Photo by Aden

Choate)

eclectic: bluegrass, funk,

opera, folk,” he says.

“Matty is constantly

trying to bring new

voices to the station and

weave a fabric that reflects

the Outer Cape,”

says Mike Fee, who

lives in Truro and hosts

Road Trippin’ — a threehour

journey through

classic and contemporary

blues, rock, soul,

and funk on Thursday

mornings. “I started

calling him the ambassador

— he is truly the

ambassador of love.”

That diplomatic spirit

helped Eric Auger

feel welcome when he

joined the station last

year as a substitute DJ

after moving to Provincetown

during the pandemic.

He says Dunn’s

trust in him helped him

feel that he had found a

home at WOMR.


44 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

Each time he has

presented a new idea —

from pitching his show

The Reminiscence Bump,

in which Auger relates

memories from his life

and plays the songs attached

to them, to holiday-themed

sets like

a Halloween vampire

radio hour — Dunn has

been all ears. His approach

is “Okay, let’s see

what you can do,” Auger

says.

Dunn’s DJ diplomacy

also includes visiting

Outer Cape schools to

teach kids about radio

and making house calls

to collect donations

from listeners who want

to offload their analog

music collections of

cassettes, CDs, and vinyl.

He assesses the value

of these donations and

sells them on Discogs, a

type of eBay for music

collectors. The proceeds

of the sales go to WOMR.

Until they are sold,

most donations get

stored in Dunn’s office.

Two floor-to-ceiling

bookshelves packed

with vinyl climb one

wall on either side of a

large window above a

sun-bleached red carpet.

There are cassettes

on one desk and CDs on

another.

From a different pile,

Dunn picks up Woyaya,

a 1971 album by the

London-based Afro-rock

band Osibisa. “I just

discovered them,” he

says, beaming like a kid

with a brand-new toy.

Posters of Earth,

Wind & Fire and from

the New Orleans radio

station WWOZ guard

the desk, which is populated

with a soundboard,

microphone,

and four monitors that

Dunn constantly works.

Above all of this,

there’s also a scrap

of paper on the wall,

penned by the musician

and WOMR board

member Barbara Blaisdell,

that frames Dunn’s

commitment to the station

in black and white:

“I pledge allegiance to

WOMR and to the programming

for which it

stands: one station, on

Cape Cod, transmittable

with melody and

substance for all.”

Dunn is quick to note

that he is just one voice

of many. “None of this

happens without everybody

working together,”

he says.

“I want to be able to

have WOMR be a safe

space for me to do my

thing and to create that

space for other people

to do it, too,” says Dunn.

“It started with just hippies

and beer and borrowed

space. More than

40 years later, we’re

still here to provide a

platform for members

of the community to express

themselves.”

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46 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

COVE WATCH

On and Off the Lifeguards’

Chair at Herring Cove Beach

A tight-knit team of students, entrepreneurs, and ‘lifers’

who love their Seashore jobs

By Jacob Smollen

PROVINCETOWN —

Alan Weaver is a real estate

broker in Hudson,

N.Y. for most of the year,

but this summer he’s

a lifeguard at Herring

Cove Beach in Provincetown.

With white hair

sticking out from under

his floppy brown hat, he

stands out among his

colleagues.

Weaver, 65, is a firstyear

guard, as are several

of his college-age

colleagues — proof that

while lifeguarding can

be a way station for students

and recent graduates,

not everyone fits

the stereotype.

“I like working with

them,” Weaver says of

his younger colleagues.

“Hopefully they like

working with me, and

if not, tough.”

Long hours watching

the water in pairs from

the lifeguards’ chair

makes the group tightknit.

Six guards cover

Herring Cove through

the summer, but only

four are at the beach

each day. Collette Spring,

20, from Pembroke, who

studies at UMass Dartmouth

and is in her

second year at Herring

Cove, says she likes that

she gets to meet a variety

of people.

“When would I

ever sit with a random

65-year-old man on a

chair for eight hours

a day?” Spring says.

“But in the best way

possible.”

Weaver got himself

recertified after hearing

about the lifeguard

job at the National Seashore

from a friend. He

has visited Provincetown

every year since

2011 in September to

participate in the Swim

for Life. He applied

three times before being

hired, he says.

“I haven’t had to

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Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 47

Collette Spring of Pembroke, left, a second-year lifeguard at Herring Cove

Beach, with her co-worker Alan Weaver, right, a first-year guard who is

also a real estate broker from Hudson, N.Y. (Photos by Jacob Smollen)

Nathan Greene, left, a first-year lifeguard at Herring Cove Beach from

Troy, N.Y. who hopes to be a “lifer” and his fellow first-year guard Sam

Patry of Medfield.

apply for a job in about

40 years,” says Weaver,

who’s a self-employed

broker.

The lifeguards arrive

at 9 a.m. They change,

hang out, and usually

have breakfast together

while setting up the

beach for the day. Conversations

often drift

to what people did the

night before — Weaver’s

report is nearly always

that he turned in early.

This relaxed part of

the workday is important

to the crew. “We call

it family time,” Spring

says.

After setting up, the

crew starts workouts.

The pair not sitting

chooses an exercise:

swimming, paddling,

running, or a trip to

a nearby ranger gym,

says Spring. After 75 to

90 minutes, the pairs

switch places. Shifts for

the rest of the day rotate

between an hour on the

stand and an hour on

break, she says.

After 5 p.m. the lifeguards

have another

round of family time,

says Sam Patry, 21,

from Medfield, another

first-year guard. The

four often play volleyball

or toss around a

football —play keeps

things friendly between

co-workers, he says.

At the end of the summer,

the guards make

plaques out of “torps,”

or torpedo rescue buoys

— small pill-shaped

flotation devices. The

plaques include “beach

names” for each employee,

often referring

to gentle inside jokes,

Spring says. Last summer,

Spring called herself

“Queen of the Cove”

in conversations, but

her colleagues wouldn’t

let her claim the title because

she hadn’t been

on the job long enough.

She got to be Collette,

Duchess of the Cove instead.

Maybe she’ll become

Queen this year,

but a different nickname

may await — she

doesn’t know.

Like Spring and

Patry, Nathan Greene,

21, who is in his first

year with the National

Seashore, wants to

return next year. But

unlike his co-workers,

Greene wants to be a

“lifer,” coming back to

the beach as a lifeguard

year after year.

“I guess I can say

I’m following a tradition,”

says Greene, from

Troy, N.Y. His mother

worked for the National

Seashore for over two

decades, beginning

when she was around

his age, he says.

Under the glare of

the late afternoon sun,

beachgoers begin gathering

their things. Families

wait by foot showers

to wash off a day’s

worth of sand. Someone

at Far Land’s snack bar

pulls the handwritten

menu off its perch. And

around 5 p.m., the Herring

Cove lifeguards

begin carrying items,

including the fearsome

purple and white shark

flag, into the storage

room. It’s been a hot one,

Patry says, and more

heat means less conversation

on the stand.

The single lifeguard

chair, which is right at

the beach’s entrance,

stands empty — at least

temporarily.

By the time the lifeguards

have finished

cleaning up, their chair

spots have been stolen.

A pair of little girls survey

the beach from on

high, perhaps practicing

for their own future seaside

summer jobs.


48 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

CENTENARIANS

On July 4, Joseph Pellegrino Turns 100

A World War II veteran and Wellfleet legend reflects on a life well lived

By Amelia Roth-Dishy

WELLFLEET — Joseph

Pellegrino, the World

War II veteran, former

selectman, and builder

who turned 100 on July

4, can recall the milestones

of his life with

striking accuracy.

Aug. 4, 1938 was the

day he met Irene, his

wife of nearly 66 years.

Dec. 12, 1942 was the

day Joe and Irene married

at the American

Legion Hall in Wellfleet.

He was Catholic, she

was Methodist; they had

to forgo a church.

June 30, 1944: That’s

when Joe set sail from

New York Harbor to Naples,

Italy as a supply

man with the 15th Air

Force of the U.S. Army

after being drafted in

April 1943. “For three

full days, I was seasick,”

he says, summoning the

past from a comfortable

armchair in the family

home he built by hand

more than 75 years ago.

Later, Pellegrino rattles

off the birthdays

of his four kids: Tom,

who was born while

Joe was overseas, Joe

Jr., Norman, and Marie.

He has four grandchildren

and seven greatgrandchildren.

Pellegrino was born

in Cambridge, the sixth

of eight siblings. His

parents spoke Italian

with the first five kids,

but by the time Joe came

along, the Pellegrinos

were American citizens,

practicing their English

— a frustration for Joe

when he found himself

stationed in Italy during

the war.

He met Irene, a Wellfleet

native, when his

next-door neighbor,

Louis Morea, took him

to the Cape for a week’s

vacation in August 1938.

Irene was Morea’s cousin.

She was 14 and Joe

was 15.

“It was love at first

sight,” Joe says. “Bam.

She’s the girl for me.”

For the next two

years, Joe and Louis

hitchhiked from

Cambridge to Wellfleet

nearly every weekend

so that Joe could see his

girlfriend. “Rain, snow,

sleet, or hail,” Joe says,

“we were there with our

thumbs out.”

The two were married

before Joe was drafted.

He remained in the service

through 1945. He

was in California that

August, preparing for

deployment to Okinawa,

when the U.S. dropped

the atomic bomb. After

being discharged, he

returned to Wellfleet

and was reunited with

Irene and baby Tom at

Irene’s parents’ house.

In 1947, with a $4,000

GI mortgage, Joe built

the family’s main house

at 10 Cove Road, now

occupied by his daughter

Marie and her husband.

Later he built the

adjacent wing where he

lives now. He learned

his trade working with

local builders, including

Irene’s father, until he

struck out on his own in

the early 1950s.

The Pellegrino household,

Joe says, was just

the second in Wellfleet

to have a television.

All their neighbors and

friends came over on

Fridays and Saturdays

for the weekly specials.

From 1967 to 1970,

after a stint on the zoning

board of appeals, Joe

served as one of three

Wellfleet selectmen, cajoled

by local political

dissenters into running

against a candidate put

up by town godfather

Charles Frazier.

“I enjoyed it, but

it took a lot of time

away from my job,” he

says. “My wife wasn’t

very happy.”

When his kids were

young, Joe gave his time

to a long list of community

pursuits, coaching

the local Little League

team and guiding the

Wellfleet Boy Scouts.

Every year, he would

sell American flags before

the Fourth of July

parade, netting about

$800 for the American

Legion on his own

birthday.

“I had plenty of

energy then,” he says.

Even as a centenarian,

Joe keeps busy. He

used to have a bountiful

backyard garden where

he planted tomatoes,

corn, radishes, lettuce,

cucumbers, and three

kinds of squash. “It’s a

jungle now,” he says.

But with help from his

son Norman, he’s growing

two tomato plants at

the front door, which he

waters every other day.

A few years ago, the

post office installed a

mailbox in his front

yard, which he walks to

and from, supported by

his cane.

He also tends a bird

feeder, perched by the

living room window

closest to his armchair.

He has to go outside to

change the water, but

he has a work-around

for restocking his

signature feed mixture:


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 49

Joseph Pellegrino in the back yard of his Wellfleet house, which he built in 1947. (Photo by Marnie Crawford Samuelson)

he soaks two slices of

white bread — it’s only

for the birds; he prefers

Italian bread — in water

and mashes them up,

then mixes in bird seed.

The final touch is suet

cake, which he grates in

with a knife.

“I end up with what

I call a concoction,” he

says. “I open the old

window, and out it goes.

My worst problem is the

squirrel. I figure, he’s

God’s creature — he’s

gotta eat. But he raises

hell with my bird seed.

Eats it up in a hurry.”

After getting the

mail, changing the water

in the birdbath, and

watering the tomato

plants, he says, “I’m

cooked. But I can sit and

talk all day,” he adds.

Indoors, Joe is well

stocked with word

searches and 300-piece

picture puzzles. A lifelong

Red Sox fan, he

keeps up with all the

games whether it’s a

winning season or a losing

one. And when Tom

Brady abandoned the

Patriots for Tampa Bay,

“I cried,” Joe says.

He also receives visits

and support from his

family. The fact that his

four children all stayed

in Wellfleet in homes

that Joe built is “very

gratifying” for him.

On June 20, the Wellfleet

Select Board voted

unanimously to honor

Joe Pellegrino, “an exemplary

Volunteer, Resident

and Human for

the Town of Well-fleet.”

The town wanted him

to serve as marshal in

this year’s July 4th parade,

his daughter-inlaw

Linda Pellegrino

says, but he was already

booked that day for a

birthday party.

Among the secrets to

his long life: he doesn’t

drink or smoke. “The

last time I had a cigarette

was back in 1944

over in Italy,” he says.

The family lost Irene

in 2008. And Tom, their

eldest son, died on May

9 at 78. Joe has outlived

all his siblings and

many friends.

“I thank God every

day for keeping me

here,” Joe says. “When

he wants me, he’ll call

me.” At that point, he

figures, “I’ll be reunited

with my wife and my

son, spiritually.” That is,

“if you believe in spiritual

life, life thereafter,

hereafter — whatever.”

He’s not sure, he says.

Better to live day by day.

“You think about

things like that,” he

says. “You try to find an

answer. But there is no

answer.”

There’s nothing particularly

special about

turning 100, he says.

“The best part of it, really,

is being alive.”

Joseph Pellegrino died

on Nov. 19, 2023. His

obituary appeared in the

Dec. 7, 2023 issue.


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With Thanks to Our

Local Journalism Project Donors

Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 51

We are grateful to all who have supported the work of next-generation journalists in the

Provincetown Independent newsroom. Following is a list of donors in the 12 months from

November 1, 2023 through October 31, 2024.

Typesetters

Up to $99

Joseph and Mary Aberdale

Paul and Rosalie Acinapura

Robert M. Adamcik

Burt and Rebecca Adams

Ignatius and Carmella Alfano

Roger Anderson

Maureen and Lewis Andujar

Peter Anthony and

Marsha Kincheloe

Abigail Archer

Phylis Arnold and

Deidre Leipziger

Marianne Barrett

Frank L. Barringer

Randolph and Pat Bartlett

Susan Baumgarten

Glenn and Lois Beard

Diane Becker

Richmond and Ann Bell

Dana Bennett and Peter Waful

Sharon Blair

Pamela Blau

Heather Blume

Matilda Brett

Lonni Briggs and

William Carlson

John Browne and Frances Coco

John Bumby and Dianne Ashley

Ann Burke

William Cadogan

Patricia Canavan

Patricia Cantor and

Jeff Petrucelly

Cape Cod 5

Barbara Carboni

Susan Cayleff and Susan Gonda

James Chapin and Mary Nee

Lisbeth W. Chapman

John and Beverly Clark

Robert Cohen

Stephen and Ruth Gail Cohen

Andrew Cohn and Marcia Leavitt

Stephen Conner

James J. Connor

Marnie Cooper

Jane Corbin and Kenneth Oxtoby

Cathy Curby

Kathleen Cushman

Paula and Steve Dangel

Anne Defina

George Delaney

Greg Delory and Diana Landau

Mary DeRocco

Stephen Desroches

Michael and Amy Diamant

Elaine Dickinson

John and Mary Ellen Dillon

Bob and Mary Donin

Margaret P. Donlan

Kevin Doyle

Lucy Duffy

Barbara Eastman

Gail O’Keefe Edson

Mary Eich

Richard Ellington

Anne and W. Ward Ellsasser

Madeleine Entel

Kenneth Etheridge

Barbara and Martin Feldzon

Ken Field

Albert Gentle

Rick Gladstone

Irene Goldman

Rose Goldman

Grant Goodman

Harriet Gordon

Virginia Gray

Phil Greene

Joel Grossman

Kevin and Shawn Grunwald

Christina Hadzi

George R. Hallberg

Theresa Hamacher

Mary Elizabeth Hamlin

Thomas M. Hamm

David and Leslie Hand

David Hay

JoAnn Heiser

Tammy A. Hepps

Catherine Hess

Daniel Hochman

Kathy and David Horton

John Houton

J. Dana and Faith Hughes

Ellen Israel

Patricia Jones

Kerrie and Edward Jordan

Peter T. Kahan

Olga B. Kahn

Karen Kaminski

Vicky and Gavin Kelly

Michael and Sheila Kemple

Ellen and Peter Klein

Hara Klein

Steven Kononchik

Jackie Kroschwitz

Suzanne Lawlor

Susan Leifer

Janet and Paul Lesniak

Jill and Howard Lester

Fredric and Carol Levison

Kenneth Levy

David J. Littlefield

Cyane B. Lowden

Michelle Lowry

Catherine and

Roderick MacDonald

Jim and Dottie Mackey

Patricia Marlinski

Stephanie Martin

Bruce and Sandra Mason

Diane and Otto Mattfeldt

Mary and Michael Maurer

Lennis Maynard

Richard Mazza

Jeffery McCullough

Kathleen McCully

Marion and John McGinn

Donald McKenna

Jim and Jeanne McMakin

James McSparron

Merrill and David Mead-Fox

Caitlyn Millard

Lynne Mixner and

Penelope Ackley

Michael and Mary Moniz

Cole and Lisa Morton

John Moss

Maria Mottola

James Mulligan

Ted Nadeau

Katherine and Richard Nagle

Susan Nally

Jeffrey Notaro

Virginia Olcerst

Steven T. Oney

Gordon Peabody

Nancy Pease

Steven and Paula Phillips

Nick Picariello and

Barbara Brennessel

Ronald and Lesley Pollara

Vernon Diannah Porter

Deborah Posin

Janet Prolman

John Pyatak

Leslie Rennie-Hill

Sandra Rhodes

Catherine Riessman and

Glenn Stuart Pasanen

Dody Riggs

Patricia A. Roesch

Richard Rogers

Katherine Rossmoore and

Bill Shields

James Rowan

Brad and Keryn Rush

Martha Russell and

Jonathon Welch

Margaret Sagan and

Michael Simons

Mary Jane Samuel

Linda and Howie Schiffman

Jim R. Schmidt

Eric Secoy

Jennifer Shannon and

Jane Lea


52 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

Laura Sheffield and

Jonathan Austin

Rosemary Shields

Elaine Sidney and L. Israel

Lucy Siegel

Robert Singer and

Sandra Rhodes

Robin and Thomas Slack

Joseph Smith

Robert Soorian and

Lydia Vivante

Gregory and Janet Sottile

Anne Sterling

Jane Stolzman and

Marc Hoffman

Juliet Stone

Cynthia Storer

George Swope

Judy P. Taylor

Robert Terry and

Judith Whitney-Terry

Leo Thibault

Patricia Thomas

Ted and Shelly Thomas

Harry Tucker

Anne Tufts

Deborah Ullman

Robert and Mel Van Peenan

Wendy and

Rod Van Peenan-Malcolm

Louise Venden

Laurie Veninger

Lisa Viola

James Vogel

Karen and Skip Wallace

Cherry Watkinson

Shirley Weber

Janet Whelan

Paul Wisotzky

John Woodford

Mike Wright

Watchdogs

$100 to $249

Deborah Abbott

Susan and George Abbott

Elizabeth Aberdale

Mark Adams

Iris Adler

Lee Adler and Lauren Kaufmann

David Agger and

Sharon Rule-Agger

Elizabeth Aldred

Scott A. Allegretti, D.D.S.

Nancy and Frederic Ambrose

Heidi and Rich Angle

John Bacewicz

Walter P. Baranowski

Nicole Barnum and Sophia Lee

John Beardsley

Donald Becker

Janet Y. Benjamins

Dana and Kathleen Berger

Richard Berke

Diana Bianchi

Bruce and Nancy Bierhans

Betty Bingham

Barbara Blaisdell

Marianne Boswell

Francesca Brenner

Ethel K. Brown

Alex Brown

Marian Brunck

Loretta Butehorn

Robert J. Butera

John Byrne

Robert Cabral

Jim Campen and Phyllis Ewen

Barbara Carboni

Allen J. Cavicchi and

Lauren Lineback

Lizbeth Cesario and

Steven Lawler

Ellen Chapnick

Janet and George Coleman

John S. Connolly

Susan Connors

Eileen Costello

Richard and Ann Courtney

Anne Cowie and Amy Graves

Chandler Crowell

Anne Daignault

Irene Daitch and Barbara Cary

Ellen Daley and Judith Linen

Henrietta Davis and

Richard Bock

Daniel Dejean and

Rachel Brown

Donelle and Wesley Denery

Roslyn Diamond

Peter Dibble and

Janine Orsenigo

Mike Dillon

Brian Eastman

Mary Jane Eckel

Susan Erickson

Paula Erickson

Marilyn Fife

Emily Flax

Edouard Fontenot and

Christopher Bellonci

Mary Fox

Luisa Francoeur

Richard Frost and Emily Bloch

Joan Frost

Kevin and Sandra Galvin

Meredith Gantcher

Susan and Martin Gauthier

Alison Gillies

Monique and Paul Goetinck

Laura K. Goetzl

Fay Greenwald

Stephen Griffin

Richard and Nancy Haak

Michael and Amy Hackworth

Kirsten Hansen

Thomas and Karen Harmon

Lynn B. Hartness

Myron Hartwig and

Robert Pierce

Steven Hatch

David Hay

Dave and Dianne Hoaglin

HomePort Press

Ronald Hoover

Holiday Houck

William J. Hunt

Sarah Hurwitz

Linda Irving

Frank Jahn

Karen Jasper and Janet Beattie

Jean T. Jianos and John M. Gray

Susan Jilson

Helen Pamela Johnson

George A. Kalogridis

Meredith Katz

Dan Kennedy

David Ketchum

Delores Kimmel

Stephen and Marianne Kinzer

Douglas Kline and Nancy

Carlsson-Paige

Jason D. Kogan

David Koven and Diane Gordon

Bonnie Kramer

Ellen Krevsky

Janet R. La Tanzi

LaBarge Engineering &

Contracting, Inc.

Janice and Brian Larkin

Eileen and Paul LeFort

Bob Lenzi

Marie Lewis

Douglas Ley

Carol Lindemann

Roberta Longley

Elizabeth and Les Loomis

Don Macfarlane

J. Bruce MacGregor

Carol Magenau

Kerry Maguire

Stephen A. Manzi

Genevieve Martin

Gemma Martin

Frances McClennen

Pat McInerney

Jeanne McKnight

Joerg G. Meixner

Christopher Miller

Eliza Miller and Justin Samaha

Natalie Miller

Mary Moran and Jordan Kerber

K.C. Myers

Kate Nelson

Bob and Martha Nolan

Julia O’Malley-Keyes

Christine Odiaga

Adam and Marian Peck

Barbara Penn

Patrick and Jeanne Peterson

JoAnn Phillips

Donna Pilkington

Eric Price

Anna Maria Radvany

Barbara Ravage

Steven Rayl

Catherine Reurs

Dale and David Rheault

Marla and Kevin Rice

Carol Ridker

Georgene Riedl

Sara Rimer and Dan Biddle

Victor Rivera

Nicholas Robinson

Steven Roderick

Laura Rood

Peter Rosenbaum

Laura Roskos

Alan Roth

Lori and Mark Roux

Mira Schor

Eva and Keith Scott

Kristen Shantz and Dennis

Cunningham

Michael Shear

Kenneth Shepsle

Karen and Paul Silva

Toby and Peter Simon

Robin and Thomas Slack


Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People | 53

Richard M. Smith

Charles Souza

Peggy Sovek

Gordon M. Starr

Martha and Sumner Stone

Mary Tallmadge

Robert Terry and

Judith Whitney-Terry

Carol G. Thomas

Pamela Tice

Michael Tuck

Susan Tufts

Sonia Vallianos and

Nicola Vichert

Charles Vassallo

Village to Village Network

Barbara Weaver

Linda Welsch

Jennifer Wertkin

Robin Wessman

Elizabeth Whitman

Charles Wilder

Mark Wisotzky

Garry Wyckoff

Michael Zimman and

Ellen Rovner

Marc Zimmerman

Crystal and Jeff Zinn

Barbara Zirakzadeh

H. Michael Zografakis

Factcheckers

$250 to $999

Marilyn and

Carlos Aguirre-Molina

Tim Allis

Annette C. Andruss

Dr. Patricia Aronson

Katharine Baker

Phineas Baxandall

Jeff Behrens and Lori Rutter

Sandra Berbeco and David Coen

Daniel Biddle and Sara Rimer

John Bombara and

Allison Reilly-Bombara

Robert Brager

Susan and Bertram Bruce

Marilyn Bruneau

Sally and Andrew Buffington

Stephen Burgay and

Marianna Koval

Tom Burke and Axel Brunger

Jim Canales and Jim McCann

Ellen Carno and Neil Leifer

Jim Carroll and Lexa Marshall

David and Sara Carson

Sara J. Cashen

Bonnie Catena

Olympia Ciliberto

Jo Ann Citron

Lynda Clare

Shelly Cohen

Mary DeAngelis

Sally Digges and James Arnold

Linda and Bernard Dishy

David Dunlap

Chris and Portia Durbin

Richard Elson

Samuel and Anne Freeh Engel

Jessica Flaxman and

Jake Sussman

Bradford Fowler

Ann H. Franke

Elizabeth Frankel and

Charles Steinhorn

Lori Freedman

Richard A. Games

William Glass

Michael Goff

Andrew and Nancy Gralla

Robert Griffin

Stanley Griffith

John F. Guerra

Steven and Mary Gulrich

Kate Gutierrez and

Brendan Albert

Paul Hastings and John Murphy

Laura Heberton

Karl Helmer and

Ingrid Cruse Helmer

James Hood and William Shay

Michael and Randi Hopkins

John Hornor and Ronald Skinn

C.J. Janovy

Robert Johnson and

Katherine Alford

Kerry L. Jones

Kristen Jones

George A. Kalogridis

Daniel and Judyth Katz

Marjorie Kehne

John and Andrea Kornbluh

Melinda Krasting

Jane H. Leavy

Kellyn Lemmon

Richard Levy and

Lorraine Gallard

Robert Lieberman and

Lauren Osborne

Henry and Betsie Lind

Joan Lockhart

Carol and Bob Magher

Glenn Martin

Patrick Mayeux

David L. Mayo

Kevin McAteer and Tage Lilja

James McDermott

Bonnie McEwan

Sheila McIntyre

Richard and Jill Meyer

Michael Miller and Sarah Paul

Jeannie Motherwell

Denise Mullen

Steven C. Nason

Dorothy Nemetz

Ricki Nenner

Open University of Wellfleet

George and Jane Parker

Rachel Perkel and

Shawn Becker

Mark Phillips

Mark Phillis

Roberta Powell

Matt Radford

Janice A. Radway

William Rawn

Paula Rayman

Thomas Recchio

Loyd P. Rhiddlehoover III

Louise B. Rice

Lee Ridgway

Hugo and Carol Rizzoli

Tony Rogers

Peter Rosenbaum

Jeffrey and Cheryl Sacks

Michael and Kathryn Sarcione

Christine Sarfati

Wayne Schulz

Stacey Scott

Denise Shanahan

Catherine Marie Sims

Law Office of Singer &

Singer, LLC

Mary Rebecca Skiles

Claire Sokoloff and

Robert Gifford

Gail Spector

Sarah Stair

Deborah Stewart

Carl Sussman and

Laura Lubetsky

Lee Swislow and

Denise McWilliams

Mike Syers

Scott Taber

Christopher and Susan Tapscott

Carol G. Thomas

Lyle Timpson

Susan H. Todd

Theresa Gaglio Tripp and

Frank Tripp

Jan Walker

Carol Warshawsky

Peter and Ronney Weiss

Leslie West

Charles A. Whelan

Forrest Williams

Andrew Zelermyer and

Daniel Romanow

Muckrakers

$1,000 to $2,499

20 Summers Inc.

Lewis B. Andujar

Nicholas Athanassiou and

Jeanne McNett

Thomas Bliss

Jeffrey Blum and Ellen Cassedy

Susan and Bertram Bruce

Joanna Buffington

Christine Bulawa and Mike Kong

Maria Burks

Herrick Chapman and

Lizabeth Cohen

Kirsten Danis and Robert Kolker

Kimberly Duir

Karen Dukess and

Steve Liesman

Mona Dukess

Elizabeth Eipper and

Richard Mains

Esther Elkin

Drew G. Faust

Michael Fee and

Michele Fee Smith

Janis B. Fox Charitable Fund

Edward and Ellen Frechette

Ronald Gabel

Bobbi and Herb Gstalder

Kathleen Henry and

Kim Marrkand

David Keller and Mary Maxwell

Linda Kerber

Robert Kuttner and

Joan Fitzgerald

Jeanne Leszczynski

Jeffrey Lick and

Stephen McCarthy


54 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

David Maymudes and

Emily Anthony

Bob and Sandy Mazaika

James and Carole McAuliffe

Drake and Karen McFeely

Martha Minow

Adele Niederman

Lucy Nims-LaFleche and

Paul LaFleche

Scott Pomfret

Alan Poul

Mark R. Power

The Robson Family Fund

Robert Ross and

Frances Shtull Adams

Irma Ruckstuhl

Robert J. Sachs and

Caroline Taggart

Deborah Sanders

Maxine S. Schaffer and

Sharon E. Fay

Margaret Shepherd

Austin and Susan Smith

Alan and Susan Solomont

Daniel Soyer and

Sheila McIntosh

Susan Spear and Ron Janis

Lisa and Don Thimas

Cammy Thomas and

Tony Siesfeld

Newshounds

$2,500 to $9,999

David and Amy Abrams

Susan Anthony

Patricia Correa

Helen W. Donovan and

Holly Nixholm

Frank Dunau and Amy Davis

Bob and Wendy Kenney

Susan Mikula and

Rachel Maddow

Adam Moss and Daniel Kaizer

The Palette Fund

Patricia Rieker

Dean Stein and Curt Sharp

John Peter Zenger Society

$10,000+

Jay Ward Brown and

Kevin Adams

Matt Damon

Susan Goldstein and

Jonathan Curtis

Nicola Moore

Murray/Reese Foundation

Karen and Tony Pierson

Willow Shire

Sol III

We have compiled

and reviewed this

list carefully to make

sure it is accurate.

If we have made an

error or omission,

we are sorry and

we hope you will let

us know so we can

correct the record.

Executive Director

Janet Lesniak

Great newspapers

in small communities

The Local Journalism Project is a 501 (c)(3) nonprofit

organization. Your gift creates opportunities for a new

generation of reporters and helps us shine a light on

the role of a free press in a democratic society.

www.LocalJournalismProject.org

Directors

Willow Shire, President

Dean Stein, Treasurer

Edward Miller, Clerk

Michael Fee

Jonathan Murray

Tony Schoener

Advisory Board

David W. Dunlap

Drew Gilpin Faust

Traci Harmon-Hay

Jodi Kantor

Dan Kennedy

Robert Kuttner

Jessica Lessin

Adam Moss

Suzanne Nossel

Sharon Polli

Alan Solomont


Thank you for supporting

the Local Journalism Project

Since 2005, about a quarter of

America’s local newspapers have

become a thing of the past.

With your help, the Local Journalism

Project is making independent

journalism a thing of the present —

and the future.

Your gifts have supported the work of the

aspiring journalists in this book as they

learn the principles and practice of reporting in the Provincetown Independent’s newsroom.

(And an extra thank you: some of you have even hosted these students in your homes.)

We believe in great newspapers in small towns across America.

And we’re starting right here on Outer Cape Cod.

The LJP supports next-generation reporters, hosts community readings, and organizes exchanges with leading

journalists and with other independent newsrooms about the future of local journalism. We are beginning to work

with younger students, too. Please let us know if you’d like to get involved. Contact Executive Director Janet Lesniak at

508-237-9108 or janet@localjournalismproject.org.

Donate at localjournalismproject.org/give

or by check to The Local Journalism Project

P.O. Box 391, Provincetown, MA 02657


56 | Young Voices, Vol. 3 | People

Contributors

Aden Choate (Ngina Lythcott, page 31, and

Matty Dread, page 43) was a Mary Heaton Vorse

journalism fellow in 2024 and is a staff reporter

at the Independent. She is from Charleston, Ill. and

graduated from Georgetown in 2021.

Oliver Egger (Peter Cook, page 23) was a summer

journalism fellow in 2023 and is a contributor to the

Independent. He graduated from Wesleyan University

in 2023 and is an assistant editor at Wesleyan

University Press.

(Saskia) Max(well) Keller (Fail Gail, page 38)

worked as a staff reporter and then arts editor at the

Independent from 2020 to 2022. Keller graduated from

Harvard and has a master’s in musicology from the

University of Edinburgh. Keller lives in New York City

and writes the substack Poison Put to Sound.

Isabelle Nobili (Bob Wells, page 13) is from Eastham

and a 2021 graduate of Nauset Regional High School.

She was a summer journalism fellow in 2022 and

attends Johns Hopkins University.

Sam Pollak (Mulching Duck Harbor, page 7)

graduated from Wesleyan University in 2022. He

has reported for the Independent since 2022 and is a

freelance reporter in New York City.

Molly Reinmann (Cannabis gardeners, page 20) was

a summer journalism fellow in 2024. A student at

Yale University, she is currently taking a gap semester

in Madison, Wisc., where she is reporting for the

Wisconsin State Journal.

Amelia Roth-Dishy (Suede, page 10, and Joseph

Pellegrino, page 48) graduated from Harvard

University in 2022. She was a Mary Heaton Vorse

fellow in 2023 and worked as a staff reporter at the

Independent that year.

Josephine de La Bruyere (Dougie Freeman, page 4)

was a summer journalism fellow in 2020 and a staff

reporter for the Independent in 2020-2021. In 2023,

she graduated from Princetown University, where she

was the editor of the Daily Princetonian.

Jacob Smollen (Lifeguards at Herring Cove, page 46)

from Philadelphia was a summer journalism fellow

in 2024. He is a student at Brown University, where

he reports for the Brown Daily Herald and is

co-editor of the paper’s podcasting team.

Emma Madgic (Portuguese Festival, page 26) was a

summer journalism fellow in 2022. She graduated

from Brown University in 2023 and is a strategic

communications analyst in New York City.

Jack Styler (Freedom on horseback, page 34)

graduated from University of Wisconsin-Madison in

2022 and was a staff reporter at the Independent in

2024. He is now a Fulbright fellow in Latvia.

Sophie Mann-Shafir (Kenny Dutra, page 40) was a

staff reporter at the Independent from 2022 to 2024.

A 2022 Wesleyan University graduate, she is now a

Fulbright fellow in Sicily.

Paul Sullivan (Dina Martina, page 16, and flea market

characters, page 29) began at the Independent as a staff

reporter in 2021. He became an associate editor after

graduating from Harvard in 2023. He is a Harvardwood

fellow, writing about queer places across the country.

Special thanks to Nancy Bloom, Elias Duncan, Marnie Crawford Samuelson, Emily Schiffer, and Nancy Silva for

photography and to Chris Kelly for design of this volume.


A CREATIVE WELCOME TO ALL

L-R. PAUL RESIKA, SELINA TRIEFF (1934-2015), SKY POWER

TOP: JOE DIGGS; BOTTOM, DANIELLE MAILER

BLANCHE LAZZELL (1878-1956); MIKE CARROLL

Berta Walker

G A L L E R Y

Create • Communicate

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